Uploaded
by OnlySnakesCanLove
Summary: Agent Jayden died attempting to arrest the Origami Killer. However, when Lieutenant Blake finds the former agent's device known as ARI, he will come to discover the untold realms of possibilities it holds for them both. Blake/Jayden
1. Speak Of The Devil

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, and sex between two men. (In later chapters.)**

Author's Note: **I was incredibly fascinated by the "Uploaded" epilogue, and I had wished it was longer so we could see more of the drama that was Jayden and Blake's strained relationship. Not to mention, Blake looked all to happy to be trying on those glasses first time he had the chance. So, what happened afterwards? Beware, slashy-ness in later chapters!**

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**_"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents... Some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new Dark Age."- _**_H.P. Lovecraft_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

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"…He's being buried in two days in some godforsaken hole in the back-end of beyond near Washington…"

Perry droned off, nonchalantly brushing some unseen particles from his sleeves.

"I have to attend as a matter of… _protocol_."

Throwing a hand in the air, he waved it off. He was obviously irritated with all the bullshit involved with the entire situation. All to make the press happy and the mayor's next election go smoothly- it ensured his own ass would stay in his job.

Blake sat back in his chair, rotating a bit from boredom. It was bad enough they had to deal with another murder just as they were sweeping up the last loose ends from the Origami Killer case- but it had to be the kid's murder. It involved an even bigger pain in the ass- more FBI showing up in his precinct questioning everything that moved. He was just in yesterday being asked about everything from Jayden's behavior to the Origami case itself. Carter found it a grave annoyance and was about ready to flip his shit any minute if he saw another agent anytime soon- he sure wasn't ready to parade on down to Washington just to attend the dip-shit's funeral.

"I'll pass, Jayden and I didn't see eye to eye on much…"

It sounded callous even for him. He worked with the man for really only a good few days…Really, he didn't know much about the guy except from the few words they exchanged that didn't pertain to the case. Apparently, Norman liked black coffee, hated rain, and was a track star in high school. Wooptie-fucking-do. What, were they fucking in secret or something? He didn't owe the kid a damn thing.

Speaking of which, he was even getting some strange looks from the underlings about him ever since the questioning began at the precinct. Another thing that Jayden made aware to him (though un-intentionally) had been that he swung the other way. Once it got around to the others, for the first time there was something else to talk about involving him besides being a complete dickhead. He had become the brunt of a few office-running jokes and rumors flying around pertaining to what they were doing on those long patrols for the Origami Killer. Good thing he never really gave a shit about his perception before, otherwise he may have felt somewhat threatened.

"No problem-" Perry gave a short laugh. "…I understand."

It was obvious he was jealous of Carter's situation. Really, he didn't _have _to go. No matter what, however, Perry would never hear the end of it if he refused to attend the little shit's burial. Hell, it might even cost him his job.

Suddenly, Carter remembered something. It was bugging him ever since they found his body yesterday. Somehow, Norman's glasses survived the thrashing device he'd fallen into. He'd seen him wearing it about the crime scene when he first arrived in Philly, using it later to show them slides on an overhead. Not to mention a few instances he caught him dicking around in his office, with his hands in the air as if he was going through some invisible file system.

When Madison Paige called them to the scene after the kid's rescue, he'd been told Norman had shown up and chased away the Origami Killer himself. Later it was revealed to be his past partner and colleague, Scott Shelby, whom they were currently still searching for. It gnawed at him inside that the back-stabbing motherfucker was still prowling the streets- and that it was one of the few people in his life he had actually once considered a friend. Not to mention that spoiled asshole Norman was right the whole time. When they searched the other warehouse, however, he was called over by an officer with a rather grim look on his face.

The officer led him to the body of the deceased agent, laying in a pile of literal garbage. Blake had seen a lot of shit in his life, bodies cut up and stored in the most mundane of places, severed body parts in random locations, murdered wives and children…But this was a new one. He actually winced and made a face of disgust at the sight.. It wasn't so much a body as it was a mess. Norman's face was barely recognizable as it was a heap of shreds, arms and legs crushed, twisted, and suit soaked with blood. The worst thing was those eyes- and he knew for sure it had to be his temporary partner.

Those pale blue orbs stared up half-lidded from his savagely shredded face, which told Blake he had been awake to feel the whole thing. He had only just seen the kid a few hours ago. After looking up from his computer out of pure coincidence, he had watched him strut out of the office with a look of determination on his face, not even turning to look Blake in the eye as if he was making a point not to. Blake wished he had taken off after him in retrospect- his own pride keeping him from even entertaining the idea he was wrong. The agent was on to something, knew something he didn't. He could have asked him what he was onto, could have gone there together and stopped Scott rather easily with the two of them leading reinforcements.

Instead, he picked up the phone and ordered him followed. What happened afterwards was one incident short of a cluster-fuck- showing up in full force waiting for Ethan Mars to show up so he could be shot down at a seconds notice. Then that journalist stepped in and made a scene- made them look like a pack of assholes as she dodged them all and made her way inside. Luckily enough, it saved his ass from getting shit-canned. She was able to come out with Mars and his kid- Shaun. The one they'd been searching for this whole time. Like that, it was over. All over and he had pretty much nothing to do with it. The case was solved by the kid's father, some journalist and some bureaucrat from D.C. Guilt nippedat his heels solemnly like a small dog that he couldn't see, spending the next day with his tail between his legs- the sense of failure hovering over his conscious, bothering him in his bed that night and insuring him nothing but an hour of sleep. He could have prevented it all if he had listened to that little shit in the first place.

As much as the jackass pissed him off, he knew the kid didn't deserve that. To go by falling into a fucking grinder used to crush solid junk into scrap and spit out like trash on the other side. "_Yeah, that's him…"_ He remembered telling the officers at the scene, identifying the body. _"Poor bastard…Somebody fucking get Washington on the phone…"_

Before the coroner arrived, Blake figured he'd do some investigating of his own, taking out a set of gloves from his pocket and dropping to his knees. Pulling what was left of the dead man's jacket apart, his hands found the inside pockets shredded as badly as he would have anticipated. He yanked out what was left of his FBI badge, making a face as he threw it away from him. A few credit cards and ATM card…A vial of something blue, which was cracked and ready to break. Making a mental note to have it studied by forensics, he put it down next to the body. There was one thing he was looking for- one thing that held his curiosity unlike anything he'd seen before.

Those fucking glasses- what the hell did he call them once? Arr-ee? He found them in the other pocket, if it even was a pocket, he couldn't be sure. He smiled faintly when he felt them intact, pulling them out from their previously closed position. "ARI" it read on the side, the glasses themselves looking not so different then an expensive designer pair one would find in a store. He dug deeper and found a black glove, luckily for him it was only slightly shredded. Blake couldn't believe his luck- he found the kid's toys like they were destined to survive the fires of Hell and wind up in his hands.

"Hey, uh…Sir." He brought up, watching as Perry halted his departure.

"I still have his glasses…What should I do with them?"

Really, he had no idea. At first, he thought the FBI would be all over their ass trying to get them back. However, not many questions arose about the device. Certainly, nothing about the glasses even existing as some investigation tool. He was sure they would never admit that to the public. They only asked about the glasses like they were just that- sunglasses, if they were on him when he was mauled to death…And he answered truthfully. He said, "Yes", and like that he never heard about it again.

He had assumed they must have thought they were destroyed, considering his manner of death. Blake wasn't stupid enough to bring it up, even though that's precisely what he _should_ have done. Just holding them now could have been a federal offence for all he knew.

"Well, he won't be needing them anymore." Perry droned mater-of-factly. "Do whatever you want with them…"

It was obvious to Carter that Perry could, in fact, not give a shit about the glasses that he held in his hand. He was sure that the captain had at least seen their projection abilities, but had no idea to their true purpose. In fact, Perry more or less looked to be even bothered by the question. What did he care about some dead prick's sunglasses? Why did he even bother to ask?

Blake only felt stupid for a whole two seconds, holding the prize as he looked it over for the second time since he acquired them from their macabre source. Nobody would guess by his apparent arrogance and old-fashioned methods; but the seasoned lieutenant was a surprisingly curious individual when something teased him just right. He turned them over front and back, looking over the seemingly normal lens-ware before glancing at them straight on.

'_Wonder what that little bastard saw with these things…'_

Stopping himself, Carter hesitated, and then slowly put them down.

'_You're __**not**__ putting on the dead kid's fancy glasses. What's wrong with you?'_

It wasn't so much fear as general aversion. He had quickly became intolerant of the little shit's superior attitude the minute he strode onto to the scene. Coming in strutting like a cock in a hen house, like he was hot shit. Norman had put on a sort of pretentious facade first thing in the morning to whenever they parted ways afterwards. The way he acted on the crime scene got under his skin a little, sure…However, when he decided to undermine his authority, question his ability as a fucking police lieutenant in the crime-ridden jungle that was Philadelphia…Needless to say, it got old fast.

He didn't need any government help, and yuppie technology to do his damn job. Carter had been arresting thieves, murderers and rapists more disgusting then even his own sick mind could imagine. All while this kid was learning his goddamn ABCs, waiting for his balls to drop and finding his own dick. Besides, the glasses had been sitting on his pale, sick-looking face. It made him ill to think he even touched them…He didn't want whatever he had.

Shifting back to the computer, he turned his eyes back to the report he was currently working on. Clicking his mouse, he moved the wireless device all but an inch before he glanced back. Still, he was able to convince himself into continuing his work. Typing out a few letters, he couldn't help but let his gaze wander back to the pair of seemingly innocent glasses sitting atop the desk.

'_It couldn't hurt, right? I mean, it's probably stupid anyway…Just take a peek."_

With a degree of caution, Carter reached for the pair once again. This time, he knew he had to give in to temptation. If he didn't just fucking do it already, he'd never find out and it would bother him forever. He lifted them up towards his face. Hesitating once more-

'_Fuck! What are you, some kind of pussy? 'It's just a pair of sunglasses! Do it!'_

Leaning back in his chair, Blake raised the glasses and finally set them on his face. There wasn't even a second of delay as he gasped in pure shock, and a second later, wonder. It was like the world he knew and lived in ceased to exist. Instead, what lay before him was a canyon, rich and vibrant as the sun shone down on his calloused skin. A smile couldn't help but overcome his visage as he took it all in, it was overpowering in its reality.

He heard birds chirping, water running…And for a minute Carter didn't grasp it, there was nothing in his ears. Really, he _should_ have been hearing the normal background noise of the precinct. Not only that, he could feel the heat from the sun beating down on his leathery, hardened skin. Could smell the flowers, the warm scent one notices on a hot summer day as the sun bakes the Earth. Could feel the hard rock beneath his desk, breathe the humidity in the air. It was especially welcoming considering he hadn't seen the goddamn sun or even a fucking tree in weeks.

Clouds ranged across the sky as he shifted in his seat slightly, admiring the view. They cast shadows on the rock itself, the birds chattering away in a surprisingly pleasant cacophony. He didn't see the lake behind him quite yet; didn't admire the waterfalls as they crashed down upon the rocks. All he cared about was how his precinct was whisked away and replaced with what could quite possibly be Heaven on Earth, all from the safety of his desk.

'_Hol-y fuck. No wonder why Norm- **Jesus-fucking-Christ!'**_

Blake turned only slightly in his chair- then came face to face with a man walking towards him. It took him a split second to recognize the face of Norman Jayden, folding his arms in front of his chest in what appeared to be pure amusement.

The man's heart may very well have exploded inside his chest- he couldn't tell. He didn't scream, but he'd never been so close to it in his whole life. Gasping loudly in utter horror, Blake jolted back and yanked his right arm further to steady himself in his seat. His breathing accelerated wildly as he began to hyperventilate.

'_He's dead! I saw him! HE WAS FUCKING DEAD!'_

Carter watched helplessly as Jayden cracked a smirk. Tilting his head slightly, he seemed to be studying the older man as he fought to control his breathing. He couldn't take it much longer, however, and the minute he regained control of his actions, his hands flew up and yanked ARI from his face.

A small crowd had gathered as Blake struggled to catch his breath, and if he wasn't already still so pale, he might have turned red from the attention suddenly being paid to him. Officers and now Ash alike had stopped what they were doing to look at the never-before-seen hysterical police lieutenant. Glancing around, he finally started to calm down, even if his heart was still hammering in his chest.

"The…The fuck you all looking at?" He struggled out between gasps of air.

"This a fucking show? Get back to work!"

Immediately, many who feared the tyrannical Carter did just that. A few glanced as they walked away, getting a rather evil eye-stare-down in the process. Ash was the only one who decided it was a good idea to completely ignore that advice. He looked to his computer screen, then back up, catching Blake's eyes as he shifted forward in his seat.

"When did you get back?" Blake questioned, wondering just how long he had been staring at him while he was tripping out.

"Just now…Nice glasses."

"Fuck you, Ash…" He breathed out, leaning on the desk as he put his palms into his eyes. Pulling them away, he sat up and blinked away the redness that was beginning to form.

"Aren't those Norman's? I mean…Weren't they?"

Blake hesitated, unsure of how to explain his almost child-like fascination with the late Jayden's little toy.

"I decided to see what the little brats' been holding out on us this whole time." He tried, jumping to the next assumed question.

"Turns out it's…It's interesting."

Ash smirked back, actually rather curious himself now that he heard that.

"Really? Well, I better take a look, then…Let me see-"

"No." Carter found himself yanking the glasses away from Ash's oncoming hand.

"Why the hell not? Think I can't handle it?"

"Yeah, actually." Blake spat, standing up roughly and jerking away from the man in grey.

Giving Blake a look that could kill, he watched as the lieutenant quickly got up to walk away. His mouth went dry with questions to ask about his behavior- but instead he simply thought "Fuck it." and went back to his work. He was actually more curious about the man's behavior then the glasses, anyway. Now that he was being his usual, dickish self, he dropped it.

Carter found himself holding the glasses in a death-grip as he made his way towards the bathroom. All the while, he felt his heart still hammering in his ears. He felt faint, and he could tell that he was shaking all over. It was bad enough he had the occasional cigarette here and there, mixed the occasional all-nighter with little sleep and high blood pressure from his unyielding temper…Now he felt like he was going to have a heart-attack in the station if he didn't settle down right now, and he meant _now_. For a fleeting second he thought about calling an ambulance, but immediately canceled it out as he realized his pride would be nixed forever. Tried on a pair of sunglasses then had to go to the ER? Good God, he'd never hear the end of it.

"_Gotta get to the bathroom…Settle down. You stupid bastard, you didn't even take your pills today…I'm all out anyway…Shit!"_

Hitting the door open, Blake stumbled in and made his way to a stall quickly. It wasn't until he got there that he realized how sick he really was, and heaved into the toilet everything he had eaten that morning. His stomach convulsed, rippling as it tried it's best to flush the unknown toxin from his body. Dry heaving for another minute, he prayed to every God available to make it please stop- make the agony go away…And finally, it did. He hung on the bowl, not even giving two shits if it was a disgusting public toilet that was riddled with bacterium.

"Oh…Holy _fuck._"

Blake spat as he panted. Finally, he felt his heart began to slow, and he praised those same Gods that it was over. And that he wasn't dead from the result of it. _"You're going to stop fucking smoking. And eating junk. And flipping your shit every chance you get…You should be taking your medication, you stupid asshole."_

Taking his time getting up, he winced at the acidic taste in his mouth. He was just glad he didn't get any on him, it would have been embarrassing to say the very least. As he stood on his own two feet, he flushed the toilet and proceeded to stumble on over towards the sinks. Putting his weight on them, he leaned forward and turned on the knobs, quickly rinsing his mouth out and spitting into the basin. He groaned as he then washed his face, finally starting to feel normal again.

During his little sink episode, cops had begun to make their way in and out of the restrooms. Of course, they all took a good look at the man who was supposed to be one of their higher-ups. He glared at them hatefully, feeling weak and pitiful in his current state. It wasn't a feeling he was used to at all, and it was a feeling that above all, he never wanted to have again. It must have been the lunch hour, and soon he'd become the talk of the precinct if he didn't wrap up his little dilemma soon.

He peered at himself in the bathroom mirror, sickened at how he looked. Not that he was a vain man by any means, yet even he had to notice a pale and sickly appearance had overcome him. The dark circles under his eyes looked even worse, his dark blue eyes red and wet.

"Goddamn, Blake. Look like you've seen a ghost." Perry muttered as he walked past the lieutenant.

'_You fucking psychic, Perry?' _Carter huffed internally as he stood up straight. _'What's my fortune today, asshole? Should I play the lotto? Heard the Powerball was up to hundred- million…'_

"Not yet I didn't, I think it was something I ate." He lied, and he was always so damn good at it. A forced smirk crossed his face, and he bent over to wash his hands.

Perry finished his piss and zipped up, flushing the urinal as he stood next to his right-hand man at the sink.

"Ah well…You know how it is." The captain mocked some sort of sympathy, and proceeded to wash his own.

"Always something, you know?"

Carter jerked a nod in response, and started to walk away when he heard Perry's voice catch him by surprise.

"I know you saw him..."

His blood ran cold, and he spun around as he felt a cold sweat began to develop.

"…Sir?"

Looking up, Perry repeated himself in a more clear fashion.

"You know, Jayden? You saw him. He was all…mashed up, right? I wonder how they're having a viewing with him like that? It's almost worth driving down there for the freak-show…" Perry smiled sadistically with a small laugh.

Blake let out a breath he didn't know he was holding- and took a few more deep breathes for good measure.

"I need to finish something up…" Blake turned around and left Perry to finish the conversation with himself.

Leaving the bathroom, he felt the sunglasses again hanging from his pocket, and sighed in relief. He must have done it and not even realized when he went to puke his guts out. Why the hell did he care so much?

'_Damn it…Are you forgetting what the hell just happened? Fuck the glasses! You just saw a dead man! Up, and walking around. He looked right at you! You couldn't have imagined that, could you?'_

He staggered to his desk, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. Resting his palms in his eyes again as his fingers wrapped around to grab his hair and pull in an attempt to wake himself up. Carefully, he pulled away and grabbed the glasses from his pocket, shoving them into the lower drawer of his desk.

Ash's eyes were felt glaring towards him, and Blake looked back with a venomous stare. Promptly, it made the detective look away and focus on the work at hand. The look on Blake's face was one he'd seen before. He was his usual, pissy self. His complexion was off, though. He looked visibly shaken. Something was up, and he knew full well it was Norman's contraption that he had been toying with. If Blake would just get up, he could take a look himself when he wasn't paying attention. Though the effect it had on a hardened, cruel man such as Blake wasn't pleasant, Ash knew he was far more level-headed then his brutish lieutenant.

"You don't look so good, Carter." Ash mused, eyes quickly darting from his angry glare back to his computer.

"Not feeling well?"

As much as Blake wanted to rail against the man for his sudden interest in his well-being, he knew he couldn't afford to lose anymore of his sanity at the present moment. It was a big enough leap for him to do that, let alone re-collect himself. He sighed and bit back his tongue as his hands fell to the desk.

"You could say that, yeah."

"If I were you, I'd just knock off early. Nothing left to do today anyway except busy work. I'm sure Perry could care less…"

'_Since when the hell does he care? I admit, that sounds pretty good. I can't think straight, can't focus…I need some time to figure this shit out. Seeing a dead man walk up to you while you're his wearing fancy-ass glasses isn't exactly part of my daily fucking routine.'_

"I haven't called off in years…" Blake retaliated, both against himself and Ash across the way.

"Exactly. Which is why Perry shouldn't flip his shit when you tell him you need to leave early. You'll even get a full day's pay out of it. Besides, you've been sitting there for fifteen minutes…You haven't gotten anything done."

Looking towards Ash with a curious expression, he set to say something…Stopped himself, and then finally it came out.

"Since when do _you_ care so much? Trying to get rid of me?" Blake smirked, actually starting to feel normal again.

"Yeah actually, looking at you is irritating the piss out of me- I think you're gonna puke your guts out at any minute and it's making me nervous. That, or _die_. And I'd really rather not have to deal with it. Got it?"

Smiling again, Blake actually chuckled and began to get up from his chair.

"Good point. Be right back…"

Ash watched as Blake began to walk over towards Captain Perry's office. He knew better then to try anything now, Carter was a quick bastard and he'd be over at his desk in no time. The minute he walked out the door, though, he'd see what the big damn deal was. He was leaning into the office, door open part way as he looked to be talking to the Captain briefly. And just like that, he closed the door and walked his way.

"Right, I'm leaving. Don't work too hard…" Blake glanced up at him as he rifled through his drawer, grabbing his car keys.

Nodding, the detective in grey went back to typing nonchalantly. Carter then dressed into his coat and took a sigh that ended in a grumble as he went to leave. He got halfway when he suddenly stopped, pivoting on his feet as he turned right around. Ash watched as the lieutenant made his way back to the desk and grabbed the ARI from the last drawer. With a simple glance, he locked eyes with Ash for a brief second; it seemed like the same gaze one might see when a wolf is protecting it's kill. Trying to act unaware, he ignored it and went back to work. Silently, however, he was fuming.

'_Think I'm fucking stupid, don't ya?' _Blake thought in retaliation. He smiled vaguely to himself as he walked out to the elevator. It was a silent ride, the smell of mildew creeping in over the bottom tiles below him. It took longer then normal, or at least it felt that way. Then the doors opened and he found himself strolling out the door in a sort of auto-pilot, making his way to his car in the garage. The space itself sat right next to Perry's, all that ass kissing really paid off.

Getting in, he finally let the full-body shiver take over his frame that he'd been holding off. The shiver of seeing a dead man smile at him. Study him. Like a painting on the wall…Something seriously fucked up was going on. He left the garage and made his way back home, watching the windshield wipers struggle to keep up with the rain that came down in torrents. Carter found himself thinking back to the vista and it's warm, sunny atmosphere. Living in the general area all his life, he had come accustomed to the shitty fall weather and the short summers. The way winter never seemed to want to leave and fall was more wet then dry. Still, weather like this would always piss him off.

It reminded him of when he was growing up in upper Bucks county- how different it was. The hues of the drab city a rough contrast to those of the countryside. He didn't want to admit it, in the fear that it would make him weak. Yet those were the happiest times in his life. When things were simpler, the world was seen through rosy colored glasses. He had friends, hell; he even had a fucking dog. He had two brothers, both of whom got smart and moved far enough away to escape the memory that he still lived, so that he rarely ever saw them anymore. Oh yeah, and he even used to have a sister. A sister that wasn't bound to a hospital bed as she suffered and died a slow, painful death…

'…_The fuck are you even thinking about that again?' _The officer corrected himself, feeling disgusted.

'_It's done. She's __**six foot **__in the __**fucking **__ground. That was twenty years ago, __**get over it**__.'_

Carter pulled into his driveway, opening the garage door and parking it safely inside before it shut behind him. He had a nice place with a small yard, one floor because that was more then enough. Actually, he had considered an apartment at first. He tried it for a few months when he first moved into the city, but he instantly disliked being so close to so many shit-heads in one area. Not that this was much better, but it would have to do. The lesser of two evils. He never married, and the longest relationship he ever was a few years when he was in his early twenties. However, not many could put up with Blake's attitude, as always she sent herself packing like the rest when the limit was reached.

Opening his door, he threw his keys nonchalantly on the kitchen table. Running his hands through his hair, he sighed angrily as he ripped his soaked black jacket off, hanging it on the chair nearby. One of two chairs, even though he only used one.

He made good money, so his house was furnished pretty well. His mortgage was paid off years ago, and he was single, so anymore he had too much of it to know what to do. There was nobody he knew well enough to take vacations with, so he rarely did. Many people would kill to be in his position, having money to practically burn away. Yet really, he could care less. His career was his life, and when he wasn't working he felt useless. His father was a factory worker and instilled the belief in him; but deep down inside he knew it was his own pigheaded desire to control others that made him thrive at being a cop. If he couldn't force his judgment on others he simply didn't feel alive.

Yet today, he felt better about leaving that shit-hole behind him. Really, for the first time in years he felt he needed a break from the grind of employment. Blake found himself craving alcohol to take the edge off his stress, and reached into his rather bare fridge to grab a Miller Lite. Twisting the cap off, he collapsed on his surprisingly long couch and leaned his head back, taking a swig.

'_Just what I needed. Hol-ee shit. Did I __**need**__ that…'_

Blake knew he should flip on the TV and try to get his mind off the incident. There should at least be something halfway decent on, even at this shitty hour of the day. Yet he found himself content to gaze at the ceiling, and then back at the blank 42" television that he rarely even watched. His gaze pondered over to the array of books lined next to it on the shelf. They were filled with more fiction then non- perhaps displaying his disgust of the real world more then he'd like. Again, he was tempted to pick up one of the cheesier yet morbid classics and dive in to take his mind off the subject, but instead leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. Taking a deep sigh, hearing the dull ticking of the nearby clock fill the room.

Taking another swig, Blake's eyes eventually made their way towards the ARI glasses that sat on his kitchen table. They were positioned so they sat right towards him, and he suddenly felt a chill take hold of his frame as he felt watched. Could Jayden see him, he wondered?

_Fuck- man, he's __**dead**__! Whatever you saw…It wasn't really him. You do know that, right?_

Looking away, the unbalanced officer got up and made his way to the bathroom. He didn't really realize until now that he had to piss like a racehorse. Doing just that, he looked over his shoulder as he admired the ARI glasses sitting on the table. At least now they were to the side, so they were unable to catalogue his bathroom activities. Flushing and washing his hands, he walked past them again as he went towards his bedroom to get a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a different shirt to feel more comfortable. Really, he felt like a shower too. Still, he reasoned it was too early. He hadn't sweated that much-

_You know you want to check those things out again. Why are you stalling? What could happen?_

Halting, Carter took a deep breath and stared back at the glasses on his table. Hesitating, he was able to make it to them without completely turning away this time.

…_Even if you do see him, at least he won't give you a heart attack this time. You'll be expecting it. _

Picking up what appeared to be a pair of expensive sunglasses- but he knew better- he took his good sweet time walking back over to his couch. As he sat down, his heart began to hammer in his chest. He let out a deep breath, and balanced the glasses in his fingers in deliberation.

_It's just like a band-aid. Don't dick around, just do it…_

Doing just that, he gasped again as he no longer saw not only his living room, or even the plateau. This time, it was an autumn forest. It reminded him of what fall used to look like at his childhood home in Bucks. Before his worthless uncle burned the goddamn thing to the ground, that is. This time he could smell the decaying, yet fresh smell of leaves in the air. There was the most gentle of breezes, a pleasant sound of birds in the air once again. Geese honked in the air above him, and he jerked his gaze up to catch them flying in a V towards some unknown location.

'_How can this be so real? How did those yuppies in Washington ever figure this shit out? Why does this feel more natural then when I take them off…?'_

Then came a crunching, some sticks breaking. It happened just fast enough for him to not lose it completely when the voice chimed in.

"Enjoying yourself?"

This time he was prepared, turning, he found the ex-agent making his way towards him from the forest to the left. At least this time, he didn't practically appear out of nowhere like the ghost he came to be. Blake swallowed, his heart catching in his throat as he felt it pound away in his rib cage. Analyzing the dead man a good fifteen feet from him, he looked him over from head to toe. Making sure, making _positive _some asshole wasn't playing a joke on him this whole time- because if they were…it was working.

The dead-man's pale blue eyes looked towards him without the smirk this time. His face even more pale then usual, an expression of pleading acceptance displayed in his features. The brown hair that covered his head wasn't nearly as fixed as he was used to seeing from his short- term partner. Now he no longer wore the black jacket, his grayish, charcoal suit fitting his frame well despite the disheveled way it looked.

Norman stumbled as he began to make his way up to Blake's seat, able to see his couch and coffee table before him.

"…So…How's it feel like to be dead, Norman?"


	2. Divine Comedy

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, and sex between two men. (In later chapters.)**

* * *

_**"Being drunk is a good disguise. I drink so I can talk to assholes. This includes me." **- Jim Morrison_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

Jayden twisted his mouth as he "tsked" away Carter's dickish question; he made his way over and slowly took a seat next to the man who he swore he'd never see again. Actually, that's what he was _hoping _would happen. As always, he was shit out of luck. He noticed the lieutenant looked surprised, turning uncomfortably and visibly shaking, especially in his hands. This made Jayden twist a smirk into his deathly sick features, there was a very comforting and sickly satisfaction to making Blake feel scared, terrified even. All the people he's made feel like shit in his life; it was about time the tables were turned.

"I don't know…" The young agent droned on, shifting his gaze as he stared ahead towards the golden forest.

"I can't even remember what happened right up to it…The last I _can _remember…I was arguing with you. I went into ARI, and then like that…It was over. No white light, just…Silence. Then I opened my eyes…And I saw the sky. It took me a while to realize… to _understand_ what happened…"

His voice fizzled out as he stared into the fake forest. Blake went to speak, and then hesitated, his mouth suddenly going dry. The man's Bostonian accent made him a bit hard to understand at times, yet the tone in his voice made it all too obvious what exactly he was feeling. Really, he didn't feel nearly as shaken as he did earlier in the day. Something wasn't right- This wasn't real. This was an illusion, but the fucking asshole found a way to broadcast himself across the device he now had sitting on his face.

"Yeah? Well, I call bullshit."

Carter sat back on his couch, admiring the feeling of the soft fabric against his tired body.

"How did you do it, huh? No, seriously…I want to know. You really did a good job- I'll give you that. Though really, you didn't have to kill someone to prove a point. Who was it, some homeless kid you found on the streets? Or knowing you bureaucratic assholes from Washington, I bet he just forgot to pay his taxes." Blake smiled, exposing his surprisingly nice teeth as he let the joy of revelation overcome him.

"Is that' chur theory?" Norman quipped, wishing he could be surprised by Blake's defiance.

"That's my _fact,"_ Carter spat, looking back towards the agent. "- and the sooner you come clean, the sooner we'aken just move right the fuck on."

To his surprise, Norman didn't seem to react. There was no yelling, no sudden outburst or threats. He just sat there, gaze looking blank and empty as he took in the artificial scenery.

'_Fuck. He really does look real…' _He scanned the agent up and down again, searching for flaws.

"-I think that's funny, actually." Norman began, interrupting Carter's thoughts.

"…Because I just got over realizing… I'm really fucking dead. When you take the ARI off, I can't just reappear back in my body…I just sort of, exist… I don't know how to explain it, really. I don't get hungry, I don't get tired, I don't even have to take a piss. I just…Exist. I don't feel fake, I don't feel alive, ee'thah. I have a heartbeat…And... I know things I really shouldn't. I know I'm dead. How can I know that? I don't even remember dying…"

"You know it because you faked it, that's why." Blake grinned and looked his way.

"Come on, kid. If you phony up now, I'll take it easy on 'ya. I'll even let you turn yourself in, I'm sure they'll give you a reduced sentence-"

Norman slapped his hands on his hips as he jerked around, a twitch of a smile on his face as he went to yell. His arms flew in the air, but then they fell back down as he found himself forcing a laugh instead, he turned, returning those hands to his narrow hips as he turned his back on the former rival.

"You know what? Fuck it. I don't even know why I care what you think. Fact of the matter is, that's not why I'm here, Blake."

There was a pause as Blake smiled widely, and Jayden had every urge to knock it from his bearded face. He paused when he realized that wasn't possible anymore- not much was possible anymore. Again, the horror of the situation clawed at him and he felt his heart convulse in what had to be a choked-back, withheld bought of sorrow. He would never see his family again- even if he never was close to any of them in particular. Never again would he be able to experience the joys in life, and fuck it, he'd do anything to even feel that heavy rain again.

"Yeah?" Came Carter's sardonic laugh.

He grabbed the beer and took another swig, then sat back as he rotated the glass in a circular motion through the air, holding it with his thumb and forefingers. His gaze went from the ghost-like figure he previously was terrified of- but now considered a harmless illusion. Now he watched the alcoholic, amber liquid swirl about the bottle underneath its blue and silver label.

"Why are you here, anyway? Got a message from 'beyond the grave'"? Blake chastised in a different tone, mimicking the sort of voice a parent would use to scare his child.

"Tell me, are you really that lonely? Died, and I'm the only one you can think of to visit? Don't you have someone else you can irritate the piss out of?" Finishing the beer in a final swig, he sat the bottle down and gazed lazily at the dead man walking.

Surprisingly, Jayden didn't say a word. Blake watched as he just stood there, gaze focused on the ground as he muddled about in deep thought. Biting his lower lip, Blake shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he waited for some response. The kid's eyes were looking bloodshot, and realized he must have been crying before. His face fit the look of someone that's been dead for a good few days. His complexion was pale, translucent, actually. The bags under his eyes matched his own, puffy and enlarged as though he'd spent years awake at a time. Then he noticed the agent's hands trembling, shaking at an immense rate as he finally noticed it himself, and putting them into his pockets in modest embarrassment.

It was at this point that the cop realized something that made his skin crawl. Norman looked exactly like he did earlier in the day. Sick as a dog, pale, shaking with bloodshot eyes. Yet he didn't finish the thought as the other man began to speak up, diverting his attention.

"I'm not a ghost, Carter."

Hearing himself addressed by his first name, he scoffed and looked away. Still believing this was all going to turn out to be some elaborate hoax. Otherwise, none of it made any sense. Dead people just don't appear out of nowhere- or actually, virtual reality glasses, or whatever the hell they were. Either way it didn't make a shred of sense, he reasoned.

"Yeah, because you're not dead. What, you think I'm fucking stupid because I wasn't born with a fucking silver spoon in my mouth- didn't waste my childhood in your yuppie goddamn schools so I could be some hot-shit FBI agent? Well fuck me running, kid! I'm _not _stupid, and unless you start telling me the truth, you can get the fuck out of my house!"

Blake's attitude was expected, and Norman's face still drew a blank, disconcerting stare. He bit his lip as he stifled an outright scream into the temperamental lieutenant's face, something even worse to counter his bitch fit. Instead, he calmed and chose his words more carefully.

"-Actually, last I checked. You were wearing _my _fucking _glasses. _How'd you get them from me, _Carter?_ Is that how I died? Did you finally off me out of jealousy and take them-"

"-you're really starting to piss me off, kid." Blake growled, his teeth clenching as he stared upwards.

"I robbed y'ur goddamn corpse. It was my _job. _Not to mention, nobody, and I mean _nobody _wanted them back. Not Perry, not even your precious fuck-buddies in Washington. If I used them to pay a whore, she'd probably screw up my blowjob."

This actually prompted a laugh from Jayden, which probably erupted from stress more then anything. He doubled over and grabbed his knees, laughing sharply as he caught himself from falling over. Afterwards he stumbled back a bit, obviously near some sort of a breaking point.

"So…Couldn't resist, huh? When I saw you earlier, you looked pretty happy. You know, I don't think I've ever seen you smile before… I'm used to you just acting like a sadistic asshole-"

Blake launched out of his seat, and the world fluttered out before him. Only his living room remained. Biting his lip, he spun around and searched up and down for that wily, uppity prick. It was really a shame, because he could have used a punching bag right about now.

'_I probably have to be sitting, okay then…'_

Letting out a breath, he sat back down at his couch and watched as the autumn forest come flooding back into his senses, and with it, the agent who took a seat next to him. It took him a minute to realize where he was, exactly.

"…You have to be sitting-"

"I figured that out, jackass."

Jayden smiled, just a little.

"So, you like them?" He asked, laying back into Blake's leather couch. Actually, it was pretty nice. He was surprised that he could actually feel it. The slick surface on his pantsuit and the way the soft insides of the cushion supported his weight. How the hell was that possible? Hell, he could even smell the alcohol on Blake's breath. He'd wince if he didn't tell himself this human interaction was better then a life of solitude in a canyon, forest, Mars…Or under the ocean.

"Ha. You know what? They're not half bad. Though I don't see how this did you any damn good when invest'gatin' a crime."

"That's because you're only using the stress reduction unit- only half of what ARI was designed to do. Did 'ya get my glove?"

Carter's eyebrows rose as he remembered the black glove the kid was wearing when he saw it with him. He had a feeling they were used together, but didn't think it was very important.

"…It's back at the precinct." He grumbled- now disappointed that he had forgotten it. Now he couldn't try out his new toy. It was like Christmas morning without the fucking batteries.

Norman nodded, looking forwards again as he studied the lieutenant's coffee table.

"You'll need that, too. No rush. Next time you go back…That's fine."

There was a pining silence between the two as Blake looked towards the agent, then averted his gaze. He couldn't even begin to believe how fucked up this whole situation was- talking to a supposedly dead man with a pair of sunglasses. Wasn't exactly how he expected his day to end up. He started to crave another beer, when he the question flew out of his mouth first.

"You said b'fore you were here for some reason?" His tone was un-amused, but curious.

The agent looked towards him his gaze only holding for a moment as he tried to see through the ARI and attempt to read the man's dark blue, insidious eyes. Then he looked away, sighing as he attempted to find a way to say it without sounding desperate.

"I…I need your help," Came the young man's plea. "…and you're the only one that I can trust now, it seems."

There was a brief pause, and Blake couldn't help but feel the laugh rising in his throat. He made no attempt to stifle it, because this moment was just too satisfying for his incredibly selfish ego.

"Blake-"

Norman's voice rose in warning, but it didn't matter. He launched into a laughing fit, doubling over as he couldn't stop himself. Tears were practically coming out of his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. Oh, this was too good! If he could take a picture of Norman's pissed, pale and utterly hurt face, he would hang it up on the fucking wall and stare at it for a mood-lifter every day. Oh, what was he talking about? He had the real thing, right here!

"No…no, no wait-" Carter caught his breath in-between the words. "Wait, I'll be right back- "

He let out a short laugh as he stood up, letting the world of ARI drift away as he made his way steadily towards the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he grabbed two beers and made his way over to the couch again. Stopping halfway, he walked back and opened a lower cupboard. In it was a bottle of Jack, taking it out and juggling them all as he made his way back.

Placing them on the table, another chuckle came out as he sat down. Norman spun around then took a seat beside Carter once more, even though it was obvious he was about ready to start screaming his lungs out at the man in blue.

"I brought refreshments!" Carter laughed as he went to take the top of the black-labeled whiskey.

"…Because _this _is a cell-ebraytion…"

"You're a fucking prick- Lieutenant." The agent swore.

"Yeah, well…Like I said, thanks. I mean, I love compliments. They just make my day, Norman."

"-When _you _got up, I fell on my ass-"

"Really? Oh man, I missed out. That would have been hil-"

"- and it hurt-"

"-Even better! I guess you should be glad you can feel pain in your position. You know, being dead and all."

"Fuck you. Sincerely."

Carter laughed again and took a drink from the tall bottle. Knocking back what would have been considered a shot from a glass. _All shit, beer before liquor, never sicker…Liquor before beer…_He remembered the old drinking rhyme, and now realized he was going to get fucked up fast if he didn't stop, which wouldn't be so bad if it also meant he'd be puking his guts out later in the day.

"You're going to get sick doing that." Came Jayden, and he was surprised that the kid seemed to just about read his mind.

"Mixing, I mean…"

Blake looked over to the agent and put the bottle down.

"What are you, my fucking mother? You know, you and her have a lot in common…Both liking men...being dead and all."

Popping open a beer, he focused back on the beverage. The wait for Norman's snappy response persisted as he took a swig. Instead, he could barely hold back the grin of sadistic glee that overcame his lips, curling hideously as he looked back at the agent sulking on the couch.

"Want one? Hey, you're a guest in _my_ house…"

Norman glanced up, his features surprisingly empty. A look came into his eye that was like glass- as if they were fake. He sat statuesque for what seemed like minutes, but were actually a few long, agonizing seconds.

"You must think you're really fucking funny, don't you?"

"-Hilarious. Actually."

There was another silence, one that was obvious to both parties in the room. The geese flew over the treetops again, honking loudly as the fake animals made their way to their fictional breeding grounds. A wind began to pick up, and it felt far too real for the lieutenant. He shuddered, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in the dreamscape forest.

Jayden's gaze traveled over towards Blake at the feeling of a cool breeze, and found he was beginning to grow pale. Immediately, he realized something was very wrong, and he felt the warning come up in his throat. Yet he bit it back at first, all the thoughts of the psychotic prick beating Ethan Mars flashing in his mind making him want to give the man just punishment for his deeds.

"-You should take them off.' Jayden mumbled just under his breath. Half hoping the lunatic beside him didn't hear.

"What?" Blake asked over the wind, starting to pick up.

Gritting his teeth from irritation, the agent spoke up again.

"I said take them off! Come back later…I'll explain everah-thin!"

Sneering, Blake grumbled in his throat and damn near laughed back.

"Really? Oh well, I'll just rush on back, Jayden. I can barely wait to see you again!"

There was nothing but the utmost serious expression in the young man's face, and as a result, Blake's sarcastic mood vanished.

"_You're_ going to tell me what the fuck is going on. Right now-"

"If I stand here and tell you eveah-thin there is to know about AR-ee, _Blake."_ Norman accentuated his last name harshly.

"…You'll be dead. Just like me, you'll be spending eternity in a pair of fucking glasses. With _me_. Really, Carter…I'm pretty sure we both don't want that, do we?

Taken aback, Blake responded as he felt a headache racking through his frontal lobe, just behind his eyes. He reached up and took off the ARI system, watching as the autumn forest blinked away in a few seconds time. The sounds ceased to exist, the lazy fall sun disappearing and replaced by the slight sun filtering into his windows stained by the Philadelphia pollution. The wind, the vicious gust that started to whip through his hair and sting his face- was gone. Stale air permeated the room as he tried his best to blink away the pain in his eyes…Which had accelerated to a stabbing effect.

"Shit…" Blake groaned as he grabbed his temples with one hand between his thumb and fingers, squeezing them briefly as he rubbed his eyes.

Raising his head up, he blinked several times as his eyes started to tear up. It had to be an effect from the glasses, he reasoned. Carefully, he stood up and walked over towards his kitchen, put his treasure down on the table and threw open his kitchen cabinet above the dishwasher. In it lined his few bottles of medication, and the occasional bottle of aspirin and store-brand ibuprofen. He had become resistant to many pain medications in his life, suffering from severe migraines in his youth and doing anything to relieve it, including the occasional illegal fix. Even what the doctors hooked him up with wasn't nearly enough.

Luckily, those had largely gone away. Only occasionally did he have a bought of severe agony that made him halt, made him cease all activity and want to beat down a nearby anything to satiate the dominating hatred he felt towards anything standing in his way. Slowly, he began to actually feel the effects of a fucking Tylenol or whatever anymore, though he took more then what was recommended. If it weren't for the fact that Carter came back with surprisingly healthy test results from his mandatory police physicals…He'd wonder how he kept living some days.

Opening the nearby, squat bottle of Aleve, he popped two pills and told himself that was all he should take. Then he made his way to the fridge and gulped down some milk to wash it down. For a moment he considering going back to the couch and having another drink, but he decided against that particular action for fear of getting even sicker. Instead, he stumbled over towards his bathroom door, and shut it cautiously as he began to turn on the shower.

He told himself it was still excessively early to shower. Really, he realized as he started to strip, that he had in fact washed a good eight hours or so ago. In the end, he knew it was more of a comfort thing. Unfurling his tie, Blake loosed it and began to unbutton his shirt. The steam from the shower began to rise and fog up the glass door of his shower stall, and took over the mirror from the medicine cabinet, as well as the small window nearby that provided the only link to the outside world. Luckily, it was too small and high up for people to catch a glimpse. Not that he cared much in particular- he just didn't need to be giving out free shows.

As he went to strip his pants- he was surprised when something glass clattered to the floor. "Fuck, what-" he cursed to nobody in particular as he blinked away the rolling headache in his skull, and bent to pick up the vial.

"_Damn, that's right…"_ Carter remembered. _"I never did hand over that other stuff. I wonder what else you hid from me, you little shit…"_

Picking up the cards and ID badge, he scooped it all onto the bathroom sink. Flipping them over, he wondered briefly just how much the dead bastard made while being a criminal profiler for the FBI. God, he could only imagine. How many years of school he wasted away as he studied day and night, all so he could work for the federal government and make so much fucking money it would make Carter's head spin. Yet it wasn't so much about the money as it was about the sort of arrogence that came with it. It curled his lip when he realized that he had been paying Jayden's paycheck this whole time.

_My fucking tax dollars at work._ He sneered, and then actually chuckled a bit under his breath.

Carter imagined Norman had a comfortable life, probably had rich-to-do parents that footed his little college bill and supported him all the way. It made him see red- a sense of horrible anger flooding him when he thought of how he must have got whatever he fucking wanted all of the time, how he most likely lived in one of those upscale Washington apartments where the senators stay and practically fuck each other for political favors. Rich, spoiled little assholes…

For a moment, Blake entertained what his parents must have done when Jayden had come out to them. Oh no- their perfect kid is a queer. They'll never have biological grandchildren from goody-fucking-two-shoes-McGee. Never have a white-picket fence life with a big house, dog and three kids. It made Carter laugh aloud, and he did as he walked into the shower, closing the door behind him.

He moaned openly at the effect of the water on his body, and leaned back as the heat engulfed him. It did wonders for the pulsing in his head- which was only now beginning to subside. Leaning forward, he braced against the shower wall and felt it cascade down his back, arching it and doing the best he could to have the hard force from the jet massage his tired, strained muscles. It flushed his skin and made him feel pink, and shivered from the absolute fulfillment of his needs- the heat rising and comforting his entire frame. It relaxed, and soothed his body as well as his mind.

'…_It's almost worth the pain to have the shower feel this damn good…' _He mused silently to himself.

The shower lasted longer then he had anticipated, and he found himself not even using soap as he reached for the knob and shut it off. Immediately he felt cold and unpleasant as the warm water ceased to flow- and he almost started it back up again. He reasoned that the same thing would have happened again, anyway. So with a sigh bordering on a growl- he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel from the nearby bathroom cupboard, rubbing his hair vigorously as he attempted to rid himself of the soggy feeling of his graying strands dripping down his face. Wiping down the rest of his body, he took his robe and draped it upon himself, taking care to bring the cards and vial of blue powder from the sink with him.

Walking about his house in a robe at the fine hour at 2:00 in the afternoon, Carter felt like a slacking piece of shit. So the fuck what? Who was he trying to impress, anyway? Grimacing, he felt his stomach take hold and writhe at the feeling of hunger pangs as it growled viciously. It was then that he remembered he had indeed, emptied the contents of his stomach but mere hours previously. He didn't have much to eat in his house- the typical bachelor male that he was. The man didn't know how to cook much besides the back of a Ramen soup carton, the occasional microwave meal high in sodium and practically heart-attack inducing calorie content. He preferred to eat out-occasionally using his fear of death or sickness to order something that wouldn't kill him not far down the line.

'_I could order out. Chinese sounds good…I don't know if I'm in the mood for that saucy shit, though. Eh. Pizza? No, I'm not that hungry. I could just order from the deli down the street. Fuck. Not in the mood for that either…'_

Times like this he could really use a second opinion. In the end he really could give a shit, he'd eat whatever. He really wanted something to hit the spot, though. Half the time he flipped a coin, and always regretted it down the line. When eating a sub, he wished he had chose a pizza. When eating soup, he wished he had cooked up that microwave lasagna.

'_Just flip a coin you dumb fuck. You're ass isn't getting any less hungry stand'in here picking things over like a woman.'_

God, why did he have to be so fucking helpless? It was just his food, for Christ's sake. Suddenly an entertaining thought came to mind, and he found himself pulling the kitchen chair away from the table as he had a seat. Reaching across it, he once more took hold of ARI and looked down at the virtual reality device- even if it felt far more powerful then just a _virtual _reality…More as if it simply overlapped it.

Slipping them on, he was surprised to once again find himself somewhere completely different. It looked like an endless desert, hills of sand and rock flowing endlessly into the horizon. The air felt warm, and somewhat humid. Yet even he knew the air wasn't humid in the desert. It tasted…strange. Like he could taste the sand in the air. Blake looked up and was shocked to find two moons in the sky, one of them just slipping beneath the horizon. Then there was the sky, which in itself was not even blue. It was more of an orange or brown, and the moons themselves were obviously not those of Earth.

"It's Mars." Came a voice behind him, and he found himself again surprised by the man's presence.

"…It's taken right from some video footage they took of its surface- they wanted to be as accurate as possible. It's funny because in real life you'd never be able to even breathe. Thankfully, they overlooked that part. Instead it just doesn't feel fresh…Beautiful, though."

Norman looked away from the moons, back towards Blake as he sat at his kitchen table. He took in the sight, and found a smirk forming on his lips at the sight of the police lieutenant dressed in a light blue bathrobe.

"Take a shower…?"

Blake nearly blushed when he realized he hadn't changed yet. His black hair cling to the top of his head, the occasional rivulet of water making its way down his face.

"Oh, aren't you smart…" Blake chided, licking the top of his lip and giving Norman an evil eye.

"…Don't be gettin' any ideas over there. I don't swing that way."

Watching as Blake tilted the glasses down, perhaps to take the pressure off his nose…The agent actually chuckled, a smile brushing his face as he walked closer to Blake and rested his hands on the table, gaze traveling to meet his angry dark blue eyes as they looked over the rim.

'_I had no idea they were blue. Why the hell do all the assholes always end up with such nice eyes?'_

Surprising himself with that thought-, he didn't dwell on it too much. He couldn't help but let his eyes attempt to catch a glimpse of a naked Carter Blake beneath his robe, a sort of morbid curiosity. How big was he? He had to guess not very; from the way he threw his weight around every time someone questioned his authority. As his eyes went down briefly, all he could see was the small amount of hair on his chest. His eyes shot up at the thought that Blake may very well be noticing that- and looked at him dead-on.

"Don't flatter yourself- you're not reall-ee my type." Norman brushed off.

Carter scoffed, and looked at him sideways as he pushed the glasses up.

"Aw now, you just hurt my feelings. And here I thought we had something together."

With a slight laugh and an embarrassing smile, Jayden blushed only slightly as he took a seat across from the almost- naked man. No, Blake wasn't his type. Yet he was willing to joke with him about it as much as possible, because Jayden was still a man. A man who may have liked other men; but to him just about any man was starting to look good at this point. Being dead rather limits your options.

"So, back so soon?"

"I need a second opinion." Blake admitted, and it made Jayden stare ahead with slightly parted lips in confusion.

"Well, what?"

"Chinese, or Italian?"

There was a slight confusion as Jayden blinked, and titled his head,

"Sorry?"

"I can't decide, Chinese food, Italian…A deli? I'm fucking hungry."

There was a silence as Norman looked at Blake with a look of pure and utter confusion.

'_Uh, what?' _

"So…You want me to tell you where to eat out-"

"More like eat in, actually. I'm going to have it delivered."

Another pause came from Jayden, and he shrugged his shoulders and leaned back into the hard kitchen chair.

"Uh-Well…There was that place down towards Eastern State that made pretty good burgers. I think they had delivery."

"Oh, fuck! _Yeah_, Five Guys…I haven't been there in forever. Hey, you're good for something after all…"

Norman made a face of irritation as he watched Blake about to remove his glasses, and then found himself moving his lips.

"Wait! Don't- not yet…"

Blake actually did stop, and looked towards the agent as he shifted slightly in his seat.

'_Goddamn it. I have to make this good if I want him to listen.'_

"What? I'm fucking starving- make it fast."

"I…" Jayden swallowed, knowing he had to appeal to whatever humanity the lieutenant might have had if he wanted to get his point across.

"I need you go to D.C. for me. My house-"

"Whoa! Whoa, kid." Blake put out his hands and laughed out loud.

"If you seriously think I'm gonna drive all the way down to D.C. for _anything_ involving you, then I think you' n a reality check."

"-All the way? Shit, Blake. It's only about two hours!"

Jayden didn't want to remind Blake that he was, indeed alive inside a vitural reality _device_, and therefore had no idea what the fuck reality was anymore, but bit his tongue.

"Two hours is a lot when you have no interest in actually fuckin' doing it_."_

"Just hear me out, Blake! I mean, fuck!" He exasperated, eyes widening and hands gripping the table.

There was silence, and in amusement, Carter folded his hands and nodded. Jayden wished he could see his eyes, just so he could get a hint of what was going on inside his head.

"I need someone to take care of some things in my house. By that I mean, I need to make sure my family never sees it. They'll get the house by default, seeing as I didn't have a will. The eef-be-eye will confiscate things soon, if not already. There's things I was testing and working on with ARee that were never supposed to see the light of day, but I don't want them to have it. It's too important; if they have it back it will be destroyed. I know how they operate…"

Blake made an "hmmm" noise in his throat as he looked the agent over from head to toe, make believing that he was indeed considering the trip.

"How do you know they haven't already? Shouldn't the Feds work a hell of a lot faster then that?"

"True- but there's no hurry on their end. They knew I lived alone. It was part of protocol that everything wasn't to be touched for a good 72 hours. Something to do with making sure all the agent's paperwork was in order before he was declared ah-fficially deceased. There was no concern for me, so they're taking their good, sweet time."

Nodding, Carter kept a straight face as he turned his head and looked towards Mars' oddly colored moons. To Norman, it looked like he was at least considering it. It seemed he was the type of man to enjoy the occasional challenge. Screwing over the FBI seemed to be right up his alley.

"Sounds interesting. But what's in it for me?" Came Carter's cruel tone. He kept a stone face, so he wouldn't give away any interest he may have had in the errand.

Norman knew this was coming; knew the cruel, selfish lieutenant wouldn't do anything…Not even take a step out his door unless it benefited him in some way. So he cleared his throat, swallowing the lump that formed there, hoping Carter would even consider the proposal.

"I can pay. I have funds stored away- both in my house and in the bank. There's no reason why they shouldn't still be there. I can give you my codes; you can take it all…"

A smile and a nod came to Blake, and for a moment, Jayden entertained the thought that maybe he would agree to help. He got too excited too soon.

"You know, as much as I'd love to go on a drunken, drug-induced _hooker_ rampage around D.C. with your money, I must say you would have to have a pretty fucking substantial amount of cash for me to even drive halfway down the road- because I have more then enough cash to make it through my life pretty com-fort-bly- and if you think I even _need_ your fucking money, you're being the same hotshot little _shit_ that you were when you were still alive, _Norman._"

Blake said his name with a sneer, his lips practically spitting his first name like a curse. He could feel the waves of positive rage emanating from the police lieutenant, and without removing the ARI, he knew those eyes had to be pinned on him.

"No, I…No, of course not. That's _not _what I meant, Blake…"

"Don't fucking play coy with me, Jayden!" Came the man's venomous attitude.

"I'm not here for a fucking pity party- I don't need your money. You had better come up with another way to pay me for this little shit-stirring errand or I'm not even going to continue this fucking conversation. I'm not gonna risk my ass and get arrested by the feds for some dead faggot to have some peace of mind!"

Wincing at his cruel words, Jayden looked through the corner of his eye at the sand below. Grinding his teeth, he took a deep breath and let it out. He wished he understood what was going on with him…How he could feel so alive, yet be so dead. So fake. How he could wonder about parts of Mars and suddenly find himself face-to-face with his arch rival of a few days ago, and yet not be hungry, not want to satiate his body with what it needed, yet felt the urge and need to breathe.

He had experimented already, and when he tried to make himself pass out by holding his breath, he did just that. How he could actually even sleep, and dream, while in the make-believe world of ARI. How he could feel Carter's couch and now his kitchen chair, or even smell his beer-stained breath. How he could feel his own heart pounding inside his chest as he tried to convince the man across from him to help him out…

"I could teach you to use AR-ee; I can tell you everything you want to know. You'll be solving cases like nothing; you'll catch the Origami Killer and be front-page news. I can promise you-"

"Save it, asshole." Blake interrupted.

"I don't need your fancy glasses to get the job done. We know who it is, and it will be only a matter of time before we have him."

Norman tented his fingers in front of his face, his own anger and frustration starting to reach their limit. Eyes wide, he looked the lieutenant over and held as plain an expression as possible.

"What do you want from me, Blake? There's only so fucking much I can do for you. In case you haven't noticed, being dead limits my abilities just a _little_ fucking bit."

Carter steadily looked to be getting more and more perturbed, and with a smirk that seemed more menacing then playful, he finally cut the kid loose.

"Then think of something. I know you don't have anywhere to be…You'll have all the time in the world to roll that little one over. In the meantime- kindly _fuck off_. I'm a busy man, Jayden."

With that, the young agent watched as the older man reached up and began to remove the glasses. He seemed to ignore his protests as he disappeared from the harsh, unforgiving landscape. And in doing so, he once again found himself falling on his ass. Luckily, the sand broke his fall this time.

"Fuck!" Jayden swore, jamming his hands into the sand below him in a rush of frustration.

Biting his bottom lip, he wondered what would become of the squabbles between his family. Who would end up with what. His family was so fucking selfish- mother and father long divorced. Between them, he had five half-brothers and sisters to add to his own older sister and younger brother. All of them would want a piece, but he didn't want any of them to have a fucking thing. He loved them, sure, but only in the sense that he knew he had to. Jayden only ever felt close to his mother, his father working or whoring around too much in his youth to ever feel a bond. His older sister watched him most of the time, and his uncle on his father's side taking up some of the slack.

Yet they all came from the upper-class crest that was the Boston well-to-dos. Hell, they even knew the Kennedys, and he knew that because they bragged about it constantly. Though he did remember going to the odd New England barbeque and meeting the well-known family on a few occasions. _Nice enough people. _He recalled.

None of his own family had to work much in their life, succeeding in stocks and other means of an effort-free lifestyle. He had been expected to excel at an early age, but did so in a way that undermined their expectations. Norman had been a bright, if sometimes troubled, child. He got into law at early age, and before he knew it, he was expected to work for the government. Not that he didn't want to...it was a well paying job that would earn him great respect from not only his family, but from just about everyone in his community.

It all happened so fast, he barely had time to enjoy his teenage years. Going straight from a private school to college, he found himself working at the FBI with the highest of honors, having excelled at his grades and rising to the top of his class. Yet the whole time he remembered thinking he didn't actually enjoy the satisfaction nearly as much as he wished he could. Didn't wallow in his own gratification as he stood up, smiled, and shook his new director's hand. Couldn't say he'd look forward to traveling the crime-ridden streets of D.C. as he made his way to work every morning. Just because he was knowledgable in the field didn't mean he actually looked forward to facing it head-on or experiencing it first-hand.

Even now, he missed his old home back in Boston. Though technically his favorite place to live was their vacation home back in Martha's Vineyard. It included many fond memories from his childhood, before he was too young to know not everyone could afford a house so big, and a view so grand. Not everyone could afford a childhood like his. Yet they could all just about afford to be ignorant, and Jayden sure was. Therefore, when his parents divorced, he just assumed it was a normal thing, barely registering the pain it caused until much later in his life.

Just then, Norman's eyes just about shot open until his eyelids couldn't go any further. Because he wasn't on Mars anymore- he was there.

The ocean breeze flowed through his hair, and he stood up to admire the way it smelled as it came in from the steep sea cliff. A smile came to his face as he inhaled, letting it fall over him like a drug. Like the drug he did surely miss, but no longer required. Or, for that matter, even take if he wanted to.

As the gulls called, he looked backwards and saw the old Cape Cod style house, white with red gambrel roof, lattice covering the corners of the large, open porch that lay outside the massive home. On it sat a large swing, and some rocking chairs. He hoped that maybe it was like a dream, and in doing so, he could see his mother sitting there again. He remembered how she wore a white, clingy old sundress and would have her hair up in a ponytail. She would have freckles from head to toe from being in the sun too much, her pale blue eyes matching his own. Her favorite drink of choice would always been a lemonade that she loved to make herself.

Nevertheless, no- she wasn't there at all. Not even her smell, not even a noise.

Jayden sighed, and surprised himself when for the first time since he "died", he felt a hunger pain. He blinked, and then waited. It happened again, rumbling as it signaled to him to give it some food to digest. Did he really need it, or was it just another cruel way to torment him in this hellish purgatory? Feeling hungry, with no way to satiate himself?

Norman didn't know what to do- he felt sick now. Disgusted. What did this all mean? Was this actually Hell, and he was led astray by his own intellect the whole time? Was Blake actually the Devil, sent here to torment him?

'_Maybe Nathanial was right…_' The agent smiled to himself.

Yet what was up with these hunger pains? How could he go without them for so long? He couldn't even begin to fathom what sort of power ARI actually held. Apparently, it was far more influential then even he could imagine.

Walking up to the white swing, he took a seat and heard it creak in response. He wondered how ARI could gleam this all from his mind- how it could get every nook and cranny. Even fill in the blanks of things he most likely have never seen about the house. If he lifted a floorboard up, there would be something underneath it…There would be dust. There might even be a rat. It was almost…Supernatural in its abilities. Yet he knew from their test trails it was more like a dangerous nuclear warhead that just so happened to be placed in the right hands- or so he thought. Not anymore, now that Blake had them in his questionable possesion. It was even more limitless then what he had anticipated.

Rocking back and forth, he found comfort in the chains squeaking as he moved. His face was blank as he watched the ocean. All he could do was hope- and pray- that Blake's curiosity once again rose to his bait.

'_Save me some fries, you son of a bitch…'_


	3. Nightmares & Dreamscapes

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, and sex between two men. (In later chapters.)**

* * *

_**"Go then, there are other worlds than these."-** Stephen King, 'The Gunslinger'_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

Norman fell asleep on the swing; it still slowly rocked in the artificial sea breeze. His head rolled from side to side as he fought the strange and nonsensical dreams. It wasn't until a noise woke him a good five hours from then (not that he knew the time himself) that he finally snapped out of it. He didn't know what it was at the time, just that it made his eyes open and forced him to stand up in curiosity.

"Huh…What?"

Jayden's eyes came to rest on a casual-looking Carter Blake as he stood by the cliff overlooking the ocean. He appeared to be smoking a cigarette casually, and had just finished taking a drag when Norman got up and began walking over.

Blake looked back in a slow, purposeful way. In such a way where he knew who it was already, but needed to perform the motion anyway as a courtesy. Norman watched as he seemed to roll the smoke about in his mouth, then let it out in a long exhale.

"I didn't know you smoked…"

Carter smirked then sighed as he dabbed the cigarette in the air, watching as the ash drifted downward towards the ocean.

"It's not something I do everyday…" He said in a monotone voice. "Just when I'm stressed…"

Stifling a laugh, Norman looked downwards towards the rocks below.

"There hasn't been a time I've seen you when you weren't stressed, Blake."

The lieutenant chuckled back, and stepped away from the edge as he walked more towards the white house. Above him, the clouds were thick and dark. It looked like a storm would start up at any minute. This raised an eyebrow from Jayden, as normally it didn't do this unless the ARI had been worn too long by its user.

"How long 'hav you been here?"

A shrug, and Blake took another drag from the cancer stick then blew it into the passing wind.

"…Few hours…'Saw you sleeping, figured I'd let'chyou snooze."

Pressing his lips together, the agent turned towards the sea again and looked towards the horizon. A few galls made their way across the sky, preparing for a storm.

"How'd you get here when you weren't at a desk, or at least sitting down? It took months for me to figure out how 'ta do that."

Seriously, he was curious as hell about that. It took a certain concentration to be able to bring him from the ARI's normal stress-reduction mode to being able to traverse the imaginary landscape. It wasn't meant to be used like that anyway. The device tailored itself to the landscape only slightly- it would have been easy for someone to walk into a wall or off something tall if they weren't careful.

"I was fiddling with them…'put em on. I was just here. 'Don't know…Just kinda happened."

Nodding, Norman tented his fingers again and brought them to his face. He slowly took a few steps, noticing the older man sounded tired. Slurring his words as his lips seemed less coordinated with his speech.

"Back so soon? I figured you'd be awhile before you'd drop back in a'gain."

"Yeah, well…I got bored... I was thinking... about your little proposal?"

This got the agent's full attention, and he watched as Blake looked back towards the house, in a strange, almost fond way.

"Where are we, anyway?" Blake asked before finishing his smoke, flicking it away into the grass.

Jayden hesitated before he decided to tell the man the truth. What did he have to hide anymore, really?

"Martha's Vineyard."

Blake nodded and looked back towards him.

"It's nice…Actually; it's my favorite so far. Really peaceful…"

For a moment, Norman felt a pang of affection for the brutish lieutenant. It wasn't deep, but it was nice to have something of a good feeling for once. Therefore, despite how much it hurt his pride not to have a heart filled with disgust and hatred for Blake and all his bullshit…He accepted it. His stomach bottomed out as he felt the horrid craving of hunger, and looked up towards Blake as they met gazes.

"What's wrong with you?"

Shaking his head, he looked off towards the horizon again with a look of discontent.

"…I'm hungry," He said with a laugh in his throat.

"-and I can't eat."

Nodding, Carter seemed to be patting his jean pockets for another cigarette, finding the cartoon and pulling out a pack of Pall Malls in a red carton. Out came another from the blood-red box, and he looked up briefly to the agent staring long ways at him.

"…Want one?"

It took Norman a minute to register the invitation, and it became obvious in his eyes as they widened a little. They looked up towards the man as the agent parted his lips, and had to answer despite the appeal.

"You know I can't-"

"Oh that's right…The wh'ole being dead thing."

Carter brought back the cigarette and took out his lighter, an old Zippo that was silver in color. There was an emblem on it, but Jayden didn't catch it. Bringing up a hand, he kept the artificial wind from knocking out the flame as he lit the end. He wanted to tell him there really was no danger of that, but he decided to let him have his little fantasy. Or at least, he didn't _think_ the wind could have any effect. He wasn't sure of anything in this place anymore.

"Ever have one?" Carter asked in a drawn out voice.

Norman shook his head, but had to admit he was always curious. He hated the smell, but always wondered what the draw was to the seemingly deadly small white cylinders. Now? Well, now he was dead. So what did he care?

"No I…I've had a cigar before once, when my one brother was born. It was 'awkay…"

A slight smile came to Blake's lips as he brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled gently, blowing the smoke out against the wind.

"Wanna try?"

Letting his eyes betray his emotion, they curved downwards in a sort of adorable hopelessness.

"I told you, I can't-"

Norman didn't have the ability to react when he felt Carter actually touch him. Felt him grab the back side of his left arm and pull him closer. With his touch, it raised confusing and exciting sensations in his body. The young man only felt tension between them when working together before, yet now he was beginning to feel a necessary, almost dependent bond. There was a flutter of a twitch in his groin, but he ignored it.

'_Don't fucking get horny for an oldah', psychotic son of a bitch that looks like the rough side of a barn. Just…No.'_

Bringing Norman towards him a bit, he held him steady a good few inches away. The older man watched as the kid looked him up and down, curious as to what he was doing exactly. Blake positioned his right hand to clasp onto the other man's shoulder, and brought up the cigarette in his left two fingers, moving it closer to the agent's face.

"You feel real enough to take a puff. See if yah' can."

Hesitating, Norman looked back to the man in a queer sort of surprise, and it was that hesitation that forced Blake's hand towards the agent's lips. He reacted in shock, as it was so quick as to not allow any resistance, but relented as he felt the cylinder forced between his cleaved lips.

Blake smiled in satisfaction at having corrupting the poor kid. He watched as Norman made a combined groan and yelp from the abruptness and displeasure, but inhaled anyway. Watching as his face turned red, he quickly pulled it away as Jayden went into a coughing fit, bringing a fist to his mouth as he tried to cover it as he coughed up the smoke.

"Oh, Gawd…"

The younger man looked about ready to pass out, his face even sicker as it was pale, yet turning a bright red. Carter laughed only slightly, bringing the cig to his lips as he inadvertently tasted the young agent, though not noticing any real difference.

"So?" Carter inquired, scratching his nose with the back of his hand.

For a moment, Norman swayed on his heels as Carter released his grip. Actually, getting over the initial puff, it wasn't so bad. There was a rush as the drugs mixed with the tobacco coursed through his system, the hot smoke had burned the back of his throat, but gave him that much-needed boost that he was craving since…Well, since he last used Tripto.

"Not too bad, actually."

Carter smiled, blowing out the smoke as he dabbed the ashes onto the previously picturesque ground below.

"You feel pretty real for a dead son of a bitch…" He remarked, fiddling with the stick between the two fingers, taking another puff hurriedly and blowing the smoke out his nose.

"…And _you_feel pretty real for a dream." Norman muttered, finding his eyes resting on the cig between the man's fingers.

"A dream?" Carter caught, "How d'ya figure I'm not real?"

There was a wordless understanding between them as Blake caught the look of yearning in Jayden's eyes. He watched as the kid stepped forward and dipped his head a few inches, and Blake complied as he brought the cigarette back to Jayden's lips, where he again took another inhale as he wrapped his mouth about the deadly cylinder.

Right then, Blake actually had a bit of a fatherly feeling towards the little brat- the kid was almost old enough to be an older son to him. Right now, it felt good to be having the higher-class twat practically eating out of his hand- or rather suckling at his cigarette. It gave him a sick sort of satisfaction to see him so dependent.

"Thanks," Norman remarked, blowing the smoke into the wind and standing back up.

"…It's...It's because you're being too nice. You're reminding me more of my uncle right now, and I know that can't be right." He continued.

Blake nodded; again putting it to his lips as he lamented it was halfway done from sharing it with the greedy agent, though he did have one left. He was hoping to save that, it was going to be a stressful next couple days…

"I can _be_ a dick if you want, you know." The lieutenant assured. "I just loosen up when I drink…and especially when I smoke. Don't get too used to it."

Norman made a noise of approval in his throat- and realized it couldn't be a dream. It was too real, and besides, his dreams were never this oddly pleasant. He'd had problems with nightmares ever since he was a child, 'Night Terrors' he supposed they were actually called. Running through the woods, a burning house, anywhere something could chase him horridly. Being perused by something, but always too afraid to look back. He didn't have them all the time, but when he did, he remembered them clearly.

"Don't worry, I won't…"

Sucking in the nicotine, Carter, in reflex, held the cigarette again for Norman to leech off from. Coming in again, this time even closer to the other man's face, about five inches away, he took a puff. He took to inhaling in as much as the ash as possible.

'_Not a bad replacement for Triptocaine, or even food, actually._'

Letting the smoke out with a cough, he relished the surge, the taboo brought from each puff.

'_I could get used to this…'_

There was a slight silence between them as Blake took it back, taking a puff and damn near finishing the stick himself in one shot. He watched as Norman made a sort of "puppy-dog" eye look, following it as it went with his eyes, to and away from Blake's lips. Smirking, he reveled in the monster he had made.

'_I got the kid hooked on nicotine. Nice.'_

"Oh for fuck's sake, just finish it…I've got one left, and I'm saving it for me."

Swooping in like a large, predatory bird, Jayden practically knocked the cigarette from his hand as Blake went to take a final, short drag. The thing just barely left the older man's lips as he grabbed Blake's arm, pulling it towards him and wrapping his lips about the end. This time, he could feel that he had been a little too eager, as there was some of Blake's surprised spit on the end as he did so. He didn't care, though. Moaning as he took the last of the cig's smoke, he watched as Blake took the finished result and looked it over, smirking in satisfaction at getting Norman to practically beg for something that came out of his fucking mouth.

"Thanks…" Norman cleared his throat as he emitted the smoke from his mouth, giving a cough.

"That 'elped."

Blake shuffled his feet as he put out the smoke in the imaginary grass.

"Yeah, well it's not everyday I share my cigarette with a dead man- consider it a charity."

Norman gulped at the statement, almost feeling a sudden kinship with his arch rival. It had only been a day, and Blake had used the ARI to reach him on four separate occasions. He had to wonder why exactly, was he bored? Curious? Was it simply because it seemed almost…That Blake was starting to enjoy his company?

'_Absolutely not.' _The dead man reasoned. '_Maybe he considers this an escape…?'_

"So how much did you have to drink before you got here?"

He could tell that he had been a bit tipsy- not drunk, not yet. Buzzed, absolutely. He was dressed this time, a dark blue polo shirt that clung to him well, and a pair of jeans that looked to have been around forever, he couldn't even tell its maker anymore on the back pocket. Lee? Wranglers, maybe? They didn't look cheap.

"A few. Maybe…four or five. Few shots of Jack…"

Carter went to put his hands in his pockets, and turned around as he began to go for a little stroll. Slowly, though, making it obvious that he wasn't there just to walk around the dream world. Norman tilted his head to try and get a glimpse of the other man's face, surprised that he hadn't begun to feel the effects of overexposure to ARI. No bleeding, no trembling…Not yet, anyway. Eventually, everyone would start to react. Maybe Blake had some weird tolerance for the device?

"Sick yet?" Jayden toyed.

"No. Not until morning." He said with an irritated sigh, actually catching Jayden's eye as he turned around and walked towards the house. It was Jayden's way of inquiring if he had any migraines or even just a headache- but it was obvious Blake thought he meant the hard liquor.

"Why are you drinking so much…? Is something wrong?"

The agent confused himself with his concerned tone. Maybe it was the psychologist in him?

Looking back towards the kid, Blake stopped and eyed him suspiciously.

"Perry called." He sighed, and shifted his feet as he thought about how to say it.

"The mayor decided Ash and I need to attend your funeral. He said if I _don't_…He'd put me on suspension without pay. I won't have that shit. So, looks like I'm taking that trip, anyway."

Norman couldn't hide the smile that came over his lips as he tried to look away.

"Oh, well…That's a shame."

"Norman, _**shut the fuck**_**_ up_**. Just because I'm going to your funeral doesn't mean I agreed to help you in your little scheme. Don't get your hopes up."

Yet he knew now that he had an edge- half the job was already done for him. Now all he needed was a little bit more to push him into his house to collect and safeguard everything he needed done. Not only that, Norman had his own little agenda for him that he was keeping secret until he got down there. Stating it now would only make the deal harder to accomplish.

"I'm still considering a payment for you." Jayden mused, rather ashamed at how low he'd sunk.

"There's gotta be something you want- You can't have everything you want in the world. Name something…I'll see what I can do."

There was a silence as Carter Blake stood solemnly, and it appeared as though he was thinking of that himself. Instead of answering, he began to walk up towards the large porch of the old house. Norman went to say something, but found it rather awkward to mention that this was indeed _his _house- and that he hoped he didn't screw it up. He had yet to determine if any changes done in ARI were permanent, and carried over to the next session.

Walking up the creaking steps, Blake found himself coming to sit on the old swing that also squeaked with his weight. He looked up to find Norman following him like some lost puppy, and hesitated as he noticed him standing there like he wanted an invitation. Instead, he watched as the young man leaned his back against the white railing of the idyllic scene.

Suddenly, Blake had a thought.

"What the hell can I be sitting on…?" He wondered, looking around.

"…I didn't think you could-"

"The ARI maps itself to your environment." Jayden quipped, "You're probably sitting on a chair somewhere in your house. If there wasn't…Well, the swing wouldn't even be there."

Nodding Blake sat back into the chair, feeling a little better.

"Well...How did you finish my cigarette?"

There was a slight, uncomfortable silence as Carter looked towards the kid, and got the impression that it was just as big a mystery to him as well.

"You know what? I haven't the faintest 'fuckin idea. I'm real enough to 'in-hail smoke, I suppose. I just wish I was real enough to eat. It suppressed my appetite, but that's not going to last for'eveh."

Nodding again, Carter resisted the urge to light another one up. It was amazingly tempting, and it helped balance out the large quantity of alcohol he consumed. It really hadn't hit him yet, binging right before he entered ARI for the fourth time that day. The taste of the strong tobacco mixed wonderfully with the beer and liquor on his tongue.

Speaking of that, he felt a burp rise and struggle out of his throat. However, he cushioned it with his mouth as it made its way out.

"…'Scuse me." He muttered, and only did so when Jayden looked at him sideways.

He swayed a bit on the swing, but kept himself together surprisingly well. Somehow, he felt embarrassed about acting too drunk in front of the kid. He was the adult here; not to mention he had the show the little shit up in every way possible. It brought back a memory from when he was about the kid's age, and walked into a swinger party on one of his many calls.

He wasn't expecting it; it was just a call about disturbing the peace. Imagine his surprise when he knocked on the door and upon not getting an answer, kicked it down and walked into the biggest fuck party he'd ever seen. He's seen his share of porno…But damn- this was something. This was...Interactive. All duty left his thoughts as he saw a few women being hammered…hard, and his mouth practically swelled with drool as he felt his crotch tighten. They invited him to join in order to keep their asses out of jail, and his pants were off before he knew it.

Being the youngest man there, he made it his personal duty to out-fuck all the old farts in the place. His pride growing with his arousal as he took every girl and woman he didn't think looked half bad. Making it a personal duty to get them to scream louder then they had with their previous partner. It was like some crazy Playboy story that everyone thinks is fake, too good to be true. Truth be told, he'd had better. The sheer amount of ass he received made up for it, though. He supposed being a cop had some benefits, eh? Luckily for him, the word never got out, though he was never that lucky again. If it happened today, he'd sooner tell them to shut the fuck up instead. Age at times made him more belligerent then horny.

God, one of them was great at giving head. Just…Legendary. He almost gave the broad his number, even if it was just for the occasional blowjob in the car. Then he remembered that all those bitches were married, and could laugh at himself if he wasn't so damn drained.

'_Shit, now I'm pissed. I haven't had sex in months. Haven't had head in forever, either…'_

Standing up straight from the railing, Norman moved his hands through his brown, soft hair. At least he still felt 'fresh', he hoped the real-world physics of the ARI didn't include him starting to smell. He wondered when he'd get thirsty. If at all. Wondered just how far the illusion could go.

Almost reading his mind, Blake looked towards the agent with some apprehension building in his voice. Alcohol made him a bit more polite, taking the edge off his temper and making his muscles less tense. Everyone at the station knew you had to get Blake drunk at a party to get him to have any kind of conversation, getting his mouth to move and getting his humanity to show. One of the few times anyone has ever seen him smile was at the annual Christmas party, where he made it his personal mission to be tanked every single year.

"Fuuuuuck. Tomorrow's a Sunday…The Phillies play…What, who?…I forget. You…You 'member, kid?"

Jayden was surprised at Blake's sudden desire to have a conversation. Even more so then his ability to stay in ARI for longer then any human being he'd ever seen. This man was steadily becoming a fascination to him, a medical mystery. It didn't help that it was obvious that the shots of Jack Daniels were beginning to hit him full force.

"…The Red Sox." He remembered, being a baseball fan himself, never caring much for football…Though he did like hockey, too.

"Ah no shit…Ha-ha, that's perfect, you Boston son of a bitch..." Blake remarked, finding that coincidence hilarious.

"They're gonna get their ah'sses kicked, too bad."

"What, the Phillies?" Norman countered, a hint of a smile beginning to form.

"What? Fucking…No! The Sox. The Phillies gonna knock 'em over."

"Oh, they _suck._" Jayden got suddenly motivated and put his hands on his hips.

"Did you see what they did last year? Fucking…Horrible. Howard can't hit worth a shit-"

"Aw, fuck you, kid…" Blake remarked, a slight edge coming back into his voice,

"He can hit better then that shit-kicking Beltre you guys have, I bet you any money. Not to mention…We won the World Series back in '08! Whatya say to that?"

"Yeah, yeah…" Norman accepted, putting up his hands in semi-defeat. "…and nobody fucking watched it! Lowest ratings in World Series history!"

"We'll see what happens, you little bastard." Blake finished with an up tone to the end of his voice.

"You'll let me know the score, right?"

Blake laughed and kicked a little, sending the swing rocking just a touch as he steadied himself. Hey, Norman wasn't so bad! He may have been a filthy Sox fan, but that was to be expected not being from the area…Now, if he had been a Pirates fan, he would have been forced to beat some virtual ass.

"Hell, I'd make you watch the damn thing if you could, I'd love to see your face when the Sox get their own ah'sses handed to 'em."

Norman's smile widened, jerking his head as he turned around and looked towards the horizon. Oddly enough, the clouds were receding. He'd never seen that before…In ARI, it never got _better_… only worse.

"So I guess you're an Eagles fan, too?" Jayden remarked, actually enjoying having some conversation with the normally hostile man.

"…Yeah. What about you? Patriots, right?"

Nodding, he actually came to take a seat next to Blake, feeling an odd heat radiating from the man's general vicinity. He burned like a furnace. Norman sat forward, elbows on his knees, trying to not be technically too close to Blake while still maintaining some distance. To his surprise, the lieutenant next to him shifted a little to the side, making room as he propped his arm up and behind the agent himself, just barely avoiding actual contact.

"You…You know? Patriots are a bunch of fuckers…" He cursed, smiling at his own remark.

"That Tom Brady is such a fuckin' pretty boy…Fucking…On cologne and 'shit."

"You know, he's married to a supermodel? From Victoria's Secret, I think."

"Get the fuck out! You shit'in me?" Blake sat up and stared Jayden down like he was being challenged.

"Ah, ah that lucky piece of shit…I mean, those girls are fucking _nice_…Damn, what I'd do to that. After I got done with any one of 'em…Wouldn't, wouldn't be able to walk straight for weeks…"

Blake smiled wide and playfully elbowed Jayden in the side. In response, the kid's face burnt bright red in embarrassment; obviously, there wasn't much he could say back to the older man in response. What, tell him how turned on he got flipping through a men's Eddie Bauer catalogue? Jesus fuck, that wasn't going to work, was it?

"Uh yeah, that's…That's…"

"Oh yeah, shit Jayden…" Blake laughed, forgetting himself.

"You're a fairy. That's right."

A grimace came across Norman's face, eyes narrowing and teeth clenching.

On the way back from the apprehension of Korda, a typical male conversation ensued. All he could think of was how he had just shot Nathanial Williams after watching the man pull something from his pocket in a quick, fluid motion. As a matter of instinct, he had shot the man dead, a good shot at that. Yet it nagged at him still, a part of him reasoning that his _own_ death was the way of the universe attempting to balance itself. Punishment for killing an innocent man.

In a strange way, Blake seemed to be attempting to comfort his partner. Perhaps parts of it stemming from watching Norman save his own ass- even if it was just a crucifix Nathanial had pulled from his jacket. It was the fact that he was willing to save the life of his partner. There was a long silence when the two got in the car again, and made their way to the precinct in order to question their suspect. Or at least, once he awoke from his unconscious state.

Deep down, the agent knew it wasn't this man, either. Yet it was more of a means of whittling down the list. If these two were confirmed and out of the way, it would make the investigation that much easier, especially down the line when he'd have to explain why they _didn't _exhaust all leads before using anything resembling an unorthodox approach. It was exactly what ARI was being referred to be the layman.

After apprehending said suspect after a rather unexpected chase through a farmer's market, he was able to finally find Korda…Not to mention the large meat hook that he carried. Blake had found them minutes later, Jayden clasping said hook as he stood over the man's unconscious, bruised body like some lion defending its kill. They had both helped carry the psychopath to the police car, still out cold in the back seat with a pair of cuffs about his hands.

Blake made a whistling noise as they drove down the road, passing a block that contained nothing but strip clubs. Curious, even if deeply disgusted and unmotivated, Jayden moved his head just a little in his direction.

"You see that?" Blake said with a bit of a smile, jabbing Norman in the side with his elbow.

"What?"

"That girl- Goddamn. Wearing that skirt in this weather- poor thing must be cold." He finished with an almost happy tone. There was an obvious arousal to his voice.

It was clear to the agent that he was cat-calling a woman walking down the road, and Norman caught a mere glimpse of a thin, yet attractive lady strolling down the rainy sidewalk, wearing clothing that really didn't fit for this time of year. High heels, mini skirt and a light red blouse that made no secret to her exposed cleavage. At least she had an umbrella, running along as she crouched slightly under it.

"Yeah…Yeah, I see her." Norman went back to his staring match at the rain outside, depressed and longing out the passenger window.

'_This is getting awkward.' _He recalled thinking. _'I hope this day doesn't get any worse-'_

"What are 'ya? Queer?" The brutish Lieutenant mocked, his face looking like a mix of irritation and surprise.

"You barely even looked at her." Blake went back to watching the road, hands clasping the wheel.

"…I used to get those all the time, you know? Back when I first joined the force. I swear- women have this real thing for a man in uniform…Then they cracked down on that shit when they started putting cameras in the cars. Christ, couldn't get them off of me-"

"Carter, please…" Jayden interrupted, his face damn near turning red from the way he seemed to be throwing his "pride" around.

"Please what? Jealous 'cause you can't get any pussy in the FBI, Norm? You sure you ain't a queer?"

This time, a hot and searing blush overtook the agent's face, and he clenched his teeth and looked back out the window.

"Oh…Ohhhhh!" Carter swooned out. A throaty, evil laugh finished it. "Never mind…It all makes sense, now." He turned back and parked the car in the large, multi-tiered garage they had entered. His smile as wide as it could get.

"I don't really wanna talk about it, okay? Let's just keep it professional, please?"

"Well sure there, hot-shot." He smirked, feeling the tension in the air.

"Just keep those hands to yourself and I won't say a word…"

Flashing forward and snapping himself out of his past thoughts, he watched as Blake gave him a look of irritation.

"You couldn't hide it for long, Norm." He chastised. "I could see the look in your face…You read like a book."

"No I don't…"

"…_Full of shit, _kid." Carter remarked in his drunken stupor.

There was another pause, another moment of tension in the air. Norman swayed in his step, and began to walk towards the other end of the porch. It was then that Blake looked drunkenly towards the younger man, eyes resting on his backside. With all those beers in him, he couldn't help but have a relaxed view of his own sexuality. He was an attractive young man, nice ass, really. He bet grabbing on to it would be just as nice as a woman's, nice and round, great to hold on to. There was a second where he envisioned sinking his fingers into the flesh of that soft, subtle ass and fucking him into submission. For a brief moment, he wondered what it was like to have sex with a man. Was it better? Was he missing out on something his whole life?

'_Shit, you're not a fag, stop thinking like that.' _Came the voice of supposed reason.

'_Yeah, you haven't had any in a while. That's because you haven't been trying, that's all.-'_

"-Get that fine ass back here."

It shot out of his mouth before he realized it, though he had meant it as a joke…It sounded rather good as it brushed past his lips. It felt like control, it felt like power. Like he had control over the little Washington cunt, could make him do whatever he wanted. Inside, the gears in his slightly drunken head were turning.

He had watched as Jayden stopped, and looked back with a look of contempt on his pale features.

"What?"

"I said; turn that sweet ass back here. I'm not done with you."

Carter could tell the kid was confused, his eyes slanted down in hatred, but his lips parted as he sought to understand just what was going on.

"What the hell's gotten into you, Carter?"

"Nothing, yet." He smirked, and then laughed in order to show he was simply fucking with him.

"I bet you give great blow-jobs-"

Norman looked to have been taken aback, a look of disgust flashing in his eyes as he jerked back.

"Hey, _fuck you_ anyway!"

"Yeah, yeah, fuck me…" He droned, and watched as Norman once again turned to walk away.

"Kid!' He laughed as he watched the ARI companion began to storm away.

"I'm just fuckin' with you! Hey! Hey, Norman!"

Swaying in his seat, he felt his head spin and cheeks redden. Quickly, he had shifted from enemy, to someone he could tolerate for more then 45 minutes…A rarity for him…To enemies again. He actually rather enjoyed talking to the illusion of a dead man for a while. That had to be the first time he had ever shared a cigarette like that. And it felt…It felt weird, it was a sensation of closeness he hadn't had before. It confused him, it made him uncomfortable.

"Norman!" He screamed again, and he rose to his feet and stumbled over himself, tripping as he went to walk down the steps.

"Ah-shit-!"

There's the moment when everyone trips when they realize it, there's that split second where they know it's going to fucking hurt. Realize they're going to smash face-forward or maybe have enough time to catch themselves, take some of the pressure off where they were going to fall and hopefully not look like a complete asshole when they hit the ground.

Blake didn't have that.

Smacking his head and ARI along with it, he laid at the bottom of the Victorian-era stairs. There was a pounding headache resonating in his forehead, pulsing with each beat of his powerful heart. Groaning, he managed to turn himself around, but only succeeded in feeling the stairs digging into his back, and saw the world spin around him, the sky- the sky was blue. Wait, was he still there? The glasses…He hadn't noticed until then that the glasses had fell off, still lay in the grass next to him.

"Carter?"

The voice came from its expected source, and heard the dead man's steps make its way cautiously towards the downed lieutenant.

"Ye-yeah?" He responded in a tired, drowsy fashion.

"Norm, that you?"

He watched as the figure made its way back to him, standing over him blocking out the sky like some guardian angel.

"Who else would it be, dumbass?"

That made the hard-ass sneer in response, but his expression quickly relaxed as another bought of pain ripped through his back.

"How, how can I see you?" He slurred, watching as two, three...no, four Normans stood next to each other, and he supposed he should be glad there wasn't a halo of stars flying about.

Norman looked from him to the glasses, where his gaze rested on rather oddly. They seemed unusually locked on the device, and then he gazed back with a look of utter befuddlement mixed with awe.

"Carter, how the fuck?"

"You tell me, you shithead!" He swore, voice tired as his lower half strained on his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

"You're the Fed, goddamn it!"

There came a hurried sigh as he looked from the glasses back to the injured cop.

"I don't know what the fuck is up with you- but you're able to do this shit way too early…I think you've been wearin' those too much."

Shifting on the steps, he still made no attempt to help himself up, it was a useless endeavor.

"What…?" Came a slur from his tired lips, licking them because they were dry.

"Just…Never mind. Give them a rest, is all…Now, lets get you up…"

With a sigh, Blake was surprised to find himself being grabbed carefully under his armpits and strong shoulders, and pulled backward just a little.

"Fuck…OW!"

"Sorry! Sorr'ee…"

As much as Norman wanted to enjoy it, it seemed somehow against his nature. Blake's cries of pain felt more like reminders as to his misgivings, his inability to do anything right. Yet still, he moved back, pulling Blake off the childhood home's steps, and away just a little so that he could stand him up.

Now that his arms were around the girthy man, he couldn't help but notice how nice it felt. Warmth flooded his system as he held the hot, rough man in his arms. He had a hard body, not feeling anything soft between the space between his chest and his own. Besides the smell of alcohol and a small hint of fast food, he was able to easily override that and notice the man's natural smell. He found it pleasant, actually. Though it wasn't like any other man he'd ever had the pleasure of being so close to. It wasn't a dirty smell, wasn't a sweaty, disgusting scent similar to what he was expecting. It was just a hard, callous smell. If he could bottle it, he'd probably expect it to be called "Rough Rider" or some shit like that. Jayden almost laughed at the thought.

Subconsciously, he leaned into Blake and rested on his knees as he hugged the man close to him. Burying his face in the back of his neck, he felt his thick, leathery skin on his soft flesh. With a slight inhale, he took it all in, and realized with a rather high level of shame that he was becoming aroused. If he cared, he didn't show it, and instead reached down to feel his own crotch. He noticed at this point that Blake had began to doze off in his grasp, and it only aroused himself further when he took this as a sign the man was comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms.

It was then that Blake made a noise- similar to a snore and a grunt. Snapping it out of his half-aroused state, he mentally smacked himself for being so fucking disgusting- he couldn't imagine Blake even getting a woman what with him looking years beyonf his actual age- like a beaten horse. Like someone who never slept and when they did, on a sack of ugly. Blake was _not_ his type, hell the young man almost gave up on sex anymore. He hadn't had it in a good couple of years. He never had time, not even the desire. Didn't go to bars trolling for a man who just happened to be interested in his clean, professional look. And they usually weren't- he wasn't flamboyant like most of the gays about DC, and didn't make it obvious. He hated that type, anyway.

'_Except you're dead and you'll never have to worry about sex ever again. Come on, it's not like you ever missed it… Wait, yes you fucking did. Why the hell else did you masturbate every other day, you fucking idiot? Of course, you missed it. You were just too afraid of rejection, that's it.'_

Jayden was tired, and he was dead. That last one being the biggest reason why he figured he was suddenly even entertaining thoughts about Carter Blake. An older, rougher, far less attractive and also violent man. Not. His. Type. He snapped right back to his previous self, and suddenly felt a sort of revulsion for his behavior.

Sitting Blake up, he found himself smacking the man's shoulders to wake him up. There was a shudder, then a moment of revelation when the lieutenant realized where he was. Still apparently connected to ARI despite the glasses long having been knocked off.

"What… ?" He questioned in a dreary tone.

"You passed out. I don't think the fall helped…"

"Oh…" There seemed to be a moment when Carter blinked, tried to recollect himself.

"Wait…What?" He forgot so fast, not really grasping the knowledge at first.

With a sigh, Jayden put all his weight into lifting Blake's right shoulder, propping his right arm up as he helped pull him off the ground.

"Fuck, Blake!" Jayden cried, realizing this was barely possible.

"How much do you weigh, anyway?"

"Two…Two…What? Doctor said…Two-twenty, last time I was in…"

Jayden felt surprised by his answer, recognizing Blake wasn't really fat at all. Not even tall, just barely an inch below him. Not enough to even feel dominant in their strange relationship, not at all. It had to be muscle. That had to be why he could fucking kick down doors without much effort, beat men into submission without even being winded.

"Whatever…Just stand up, okay?"

Blake jerked a nod as he did just that, stumbling a little but finding himself swaying about on two feet. His eyes, half-lidded but still pouted and baggy, stared at the younger man in a sort of confusing, yet grateful hostility. Jayden could see how odd it was that his face didn't seem symmetrical- one half-puffier and more tired then the other side. He wondered if it was from an accident, birth, or simply an effect of Mother Nature's cruel way of aging men who worked hard all their life.

"Why'd you help me…?" He sputtered out, eyeing the agent suspiciously.

With a shrug of his shoulders, the kid looked off to the side. There was a ghost of an awkward smile on his lips, trying to form and making some headway. Noticing that the world around them was beginning to stutter, about ready to shut down for the night much like Carter's brain. A shrug came to Norman's shoulders as he smirked, his eyes actually smiling for his lips, just a little.

"Where else was I going to go?"

Like that, Norman shuddered away. With a blink, he was gone. Blake stood outside his porch, in his shoddy yard with the shitty, dome-like grill rusting on the patio and his infamous old-broken-down black 1977 Firebird on cinderblocks that the neighborhood hated him for. It was getting late; he looked to his gold watch on his left wrist, and noticed it was 1:00 in the morning. In the very least, he didn't have to work the next day. Not unless some douche decided to go on another killing spree or they caught Scott. He'd be notified either way.

Looking towards the old car, he wobbled towards it and kicked away some of the grass that had developed in a swath around it. When he cut the grass, he easily went around it but always left the long strands beside it, due to a simply being too lazy to bust out the weed-whacker half the time. Fuck, he had it for too long, it was his first car and he just couldn't let it go. Not to mention he entertained the idea that when he retired he'd finally have the desire and time to fix it and make it drive-able again. That is, once he got the rats out of the seats and repaired all the wires that would have been long chewed up. However, mechanical shit was never his strong suite. He would need a hobby when his career was long over. Sure as fuck didn't have the patience for people to be a private investigator, he knew that much.

Swaying in the warm outside air, Carter realized that it had finally quit raining, and on odd warm front had come through. That's right- that's why he came outside to begin with. Shit, he was really starting to lose it. He'd already had those damn glasses a day and they were having quite the effect on him already. Looking down, he noticed two fully smoked cigarette butts on the ground, smoked down to the ends.

'_So it wasn't all an illusion…' _

Fuck, that creeped him out. He looked back to also notice the stairs that apparently the fake stairs in his little 'trip' mimicked, and was surprised to find the glasses sitting there in the exact position he had seen them when they departed his face. It made a chill run up his spine and disperse throughout his body, tingling up and down his back…

'_You had to get up somehow, Carter' _He recalled.

Shit, he never realized it when it was happening…But Norman did, indeed, help him up. It wasn't so much the act of kindness that surprised him as the act itself. How could a mere illusion even touch him? Feel him, hoist his girth off the ground or even smoke his cigarette?

'_He said he was hungry. So what does that mean? What else can he do? How can he be alive and dead at the same time?'_

Blake was now convinced it wasn't a hoax after all. That Jayden wasn't alive somewhere pulling a trick on him. Faking his death for God knows what reason. The kid was really dead, and communicating through the device he so carefully protected in life. He didn't believe in ghosts or all that afterlife horseshit- but he had a feeling what was going on here had nothing to do with the supernatural as much as it had to do with the very technical.

It was obviously a technology that he didn't understand- he just barely grasped operating a computer or programming his alarm clock. Yet when he did, he was good at absorbing the information and never having an issue once it came to be stuck in his head. He rarely forgot, and even more rarely asked for help. The man prided himself on teaching himself nearly everything no matter how long it took.

What scared him the most (and even internally, he hated to admit it scared him at all) was that even Jayden didn't know what the fuck was going on. He seemed taken aback by the fact he could sustain the world around them without the glasses- and indeed Blake seemed generally shocked that it was even possible. What the hell did that mean?

As much as he hated to admit it, he would need to get some information from the kid as soon as possible. If he wasn't already drained, he'd have put them right back on and entered the fake world again to meet the man in grey- and what bothered him more then anything was just how excited he was to do so first thing in the morning.

He stumbled up his stairs, grabbing ARI as he made his way. Walking through his house, he shut and lazily latched the back door. Crime wasn't bad in his neighborhood, but it didn't take much. In his drunken sleep, he wouldn't be able to wake up until too late. Setting the glasses on his nightstand, he stumbled about as he removed his shirt and jeans, leaving his dark-and-light green striped boxers on as he sat on the edge of the bed. His head swayed from side to side as a slow and steady pulsing persisted in his skull. It went from behind his eyes to the center of his brain, and back again. It was scary and confusing to the older man- not quite a migraine…Not nearly painful as much as odd. Like someone pumping warm water through his brain, back and forth. Then it changed, going from that into a wiggling sensation, squirming throughout his head.

'_Holy Hell, what is that? That's not normal…Feels…Feels like a fucking worm is in there, crawling around…'_

All along, he knew it had to be from the ARI. Knew it as sure as he lived and breathed- and a dreadful horror filled him when he realized that perhaps he was toying around with something far out of his league. How did he know it wasn't going to give him a tumor down the line? Cancer? Some other sort of horrible fucking disease? For all he knew, the thing could be irradiating his eyes and boiling them every time he took them on and off-

'_Fuck, man. That pussy kid wore them all the time. You saw that. He was fine up until he died…And that's because he fell into a fucking grinder. He looked a little dazed, a little drugged every now and then, but that was all…'_

That thought calmed Carter, and his eyelids began to drift when he finally got up and replaced his bare chest for a longer, ill-fitting white shirt with a Budweiser logo from a promotional giveaway. He practically fell on the bed and didn't give much more thought as his eyes drifted asleep; hoping his often livid, realistic dreams would bring him more answers then those in the waking hours.


	4. Wishful Sinful

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, and sex between two men. (In later chapters.) Masturbation. (This chapter)**

Author's Note: **ROWR. Review monster is happy. Thanks again for the kind reviews! For this chapter- I did my best to explain ARI and Triptocaine from what's been presented. I've also done more research into the brain and cocaine then what any person should have to for a story. Haha. Hope it comes together nicely and makes sense...P.S. For those excited about me quoting Lovecraft-you won't be dissapointed. There will be more. I also hope you notice the glaring Lovecraftian themes I'm using in this story...Because that's sorta what I'm going for. **

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_**"A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality." - **John Lennon_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

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Jayden would have loved to say he felt great now that Blake left the ARI-world, something he was beginning to call his current home. More then anything he felt an incredible pang of loneliness, of despair. His stomach caught up with him, rumbling unceasingly as it sought to rip his sanity apart.

'_I wonder now if I can starve to death…' _

It was an interesting question, one he wasn't sure he knew the answer to. How can you die when you're already dead? Or, maybe as he thought was far more likely, he'd just suffer for eternity. He wondered if in the very least his flesh would eat away, his muscle being digested along with the remainder of his fat in order to keep his body functioning.

Briefly, Jayden questioned just how painful it would be. How long he'd go before it would cease, and he'd pretty much wonder the dream world as a weak facsimile of a skeleton. Then he wondered- if he could smoke Carter's cigarette…Could he also bring him some food through the supposed "dream-gate" the man seemed to be able to create?

'_Breathing in noxious fumes and eating whole food is very different, Norm.'_ He told himself. _'You'll go to eat it, and it'll just fall through you and on the floor. Then you'll look like a fucking idiot in front of the only man who can reach you.'_

Goddamn, he hated it when he was right. Yet there was something up with Blake- and he wasn't sure whether to be freaked out or jealous. No matter how hard he tried, Norman never would have been able to accomplish what the other man did in his first day, or at least, not on that scale. Not that fast. Never before had he been able to go places besides what was already programmed inside ARI. He was presently confused which one of them was actually controlling the ARI system. Himself, or Carter Blake?

What they had taught Norman when he began the ARI trials, was that the device itself only transplanted and assisted, only accompanied the person using it. The glasses were a carrier, a medium for the human mind itself. It was like the monitor of a computer, allowing the person to be able to see their mind's inner computing power. It awakened parts of the brain that had been previously untapped by any sort of previous human intervention, parts that normally were relatively inactive or simply didn't exist. It wouldn't make someone smarter- tests done on lab rats made that clear- and it didn't create something that wasn't already there. Instead, what it simply did was inspire the brain to change itself.

Parts of the brain used for rational thought and especially dreaming were used heavily by ARI, able to fool the brain into believing everything about it was real. One could feel the ground below them and taste the air around them- just like the brain was convinced of dreams in it's sleeping state, convinced of their realisim. The more a person used the ARI, the more the brain would be fooled and slip into the fake world. It would be unable to distinguish itself, difficult if not impossible to control.

Inside the cortex, the brain would make new, previously dormant connections while simultaneously taking a total snapshot of the brain in order to navigate neurons faster. This, Norman reasoned, was why he was even still 'alive' in the device. Or more likely, Carter's brain. That was unsettling to the FBI agent. The minute he got that hunger pain, he knew it was from him taking a very big leap from the small computer ARI held and into the larger, far more complex one- the human mind of it's new host.

Now that he was beginning to feel more and more real, he was also starting to fear a second death. If something happened to Carter…Even if he stopped visiting him in ARI, he may very well fade from existence. He needed the lieutenant, now. Needed him desperately.

The ARI had taken a complete snapshot of the workings of his brain, memories, thoughts, and his personality. Everything. That was to be expected, sure. Yet what must have happened was far more then that- it also took a snapshot of his body. Flaws intact, including his horrible addicting personality. It would only be so long before Carter began to feel the effects of ARI poking around his brain- and soon he would need Triptocaine or something similar to keep his reality from transposing into the fictional ARI- world. To keep his brain from overheating, practically boiling as it stressed to make more connections and overwelm his body's abilites. He could go into cardiac arrest, have a stroke, or slip into a coma. All of them would be fatal especially if he wasn't gotten to in time.

Triptocaine once again entered his series of cravings, and it pissed him off. He truly didn't understand how a dead man could crave a drug. Yet he missed that feeling of utter euphoria as the powder dissolved in his nasal tissues and then into his bloodstream. It made the dopamine in his brain spike and give him an overwhelming feeling of calm. Its blue color was strangely natural- but implied just what it did. There was a cooling after-effect, like chewing a piece of mint gum that sent its chill to the brain instead of the mouth.

It had been created by the FBI as a means of stemming the epic mindless chaos that ARI could inflict. Without it, one could experience intense brain hemorrhaging and even bleeding from the eyes as the blood pressure spiked far beyond normal levels. That wasn't it, though. Sometimes ARI got a little too real for people, made them feel unable to leave, even when the glasses long came off. It would sort of "meld" the brain to always be connected with the fantasy world. They would often be sent to a mental institution, where even today he knew of at least three people that had gone simply mad from the testing trials alone.

Much like how LSD was originally used as a truth serum by the government- triptocaine had been derived from the deadly drug cocaine. It worked so well as a medium because it was very easily and quickly dispersed throughout the body, and it didn't take much genetic tampering to the coca plant in order to slightly change it's effects. Though most of the work was still done post-harvest in the lab. They named the new plants _Erythroxylum tripto, _the last part of the scientific name Latin for dancing and celebration- named so because of the drug's ability to generate small doses of euphoria, and relieve pain without cocaine's deadly side effects. Or at least, that was the original intent.

They had made them blue in color in able to distinguish those plants from the normal cocaine-producing plants grown in control groups not far off. It would go to the brain quickly, even faster then any other pill they could implement. The white coats had worked in the lab to remove- or claim to remove- the addictive and harmful effects of the drug. All things considered, they did a rather good job. As long as the drug had been used sparingly, once or twice a day, it tended to remain non-habit forming.

The drug not only helped keep the brain separate from ARI, or at least partly so, but enhanced the interaction with the device. There was a part of the brain -the cortex- it helped unhinge from reality much like the body did while dreaming. Without tripto, the brain seemed to want to refuse and even reject the interaction involved. In fact, this was what surprised him with Carter; obviously he didn't know about triptocaine and wouldn't have tried any. Yet he acted as though he had, able to manipulate the system so easily.

When they handed out the drug, rather like candy, they had told him it was largely harmless as long as it was used as directed. What they didn't mention, or simply were unaware of, was that it held the same property of cocaine in the sense that it was incredibly easy to develop a tolerance too, and required more and more to get the same effect. Taking a break would make it even worse, the cravings coming back with such a vicious vengeance that it could be fatal with the sudden, uncontrollable need for an increased dose it would need to quench it.

'_Smoking seemed to help. Maybe if I can make Blake get to Washington, he could get all my money and buy me a stack of 'smokes. I can pay him to feed them to me, too.'_

If it wasn't for the fact he kept reminding himself he was _dead_. He may have actually realized just how low he had sunk. Fallen from the grace that had been the extremely prestigious, competitive atmosphere that was the FBI. Now he felt like a crack head, sitting on the grass of some imaginary world ready to practically suck dick to get another fix.

'_Oh Christ…That's it…'_

Blake had been right, which was exactly what bothered him so much about his statement. Norman had always had that little talent- and truth be told he actually rather enjoyed it. It may have been a few years, but it wasn't something, he reasoned, that he could really become rusty with. He had the penchant to make them last long, always swallowing and lapping up the result like it was fucking ice cream.

'_What grown man would ever turn down a blowjob?' _Jayden reasoned. _'Even if it's __**from**__ a man.'_

He had learned that lesson all too well in high school and then later- college. Luckily for him, he attended school in a very liberal atmosphere, and was rarely persecuted for his sexuality. Though he tried to look bisexual to his classmates in order to keep his straight friends, not to mention help keep the word from being leaked out to his parents.

Get a few drinks in any of them, though, and it didn't take much to drop their pants. That was all he ever did to the straight men, though. The temptation was there to take it further, of course, but he didn't need to take advantage of anybody like that. His very life could have possibly been flushed down the drain if that got out.

'_I shouldn't even be thinking of this…' _He thought as he shook his head. '_I don't even know if I could go through with it…'_

Desperate times called for desperate measures, yet he couldn't see himself stooping that low. For a brief second he envisioned dropping to his knees in front of Blake; and he felt ashamed, and disgusted at the mere thought. Jayden was a dominant man, though in a different way then Blake. This was why, he reasoned, they clashed. Jayden used words and was usually able to get people to submit, and it worked incredibly well. Rarely had anyone found a way around his logic. The way he carried himself had a lot to do with it, his rather arrogant stride doing most of the imposing for him.

Except that asshole Blake…His sheer brutality was like fire to his own ice- using force instead of coerction. He was uber-dominant and seemed to have the inability to feel emotion for others. Or at least, for most people he interacted with. Norman may have had a degree in psychology- yet he was positive that it wasn't really needed to declare Blake a psychopath, everything from the way he treated other human beings to the way he seemed oblivious to the logic of his actions. The true definition of the disorder. Not to mention his mood swings and shifts that were obvious signs of being unbalanced, perhaps even bipolar. For a moment, he wondered if this was in fact the better Blake, and wondered if he had been medicated. If only he could explore his house…

The mere thought of Carter dominating him was enough to make him squirm. _He_ was the better man; _he _was the one that was right- educated, sane and compassionate- for fuck's sake. Yet at the same time, Norman knew it just wouldn't be possible for the other man to be dominated- not in any way. Not unless he was put into a straight-jacket and thrown into a padded cell. Meanwhile, he could see himself being taken down a notch, already saw it happen when he was practically French kissed by his cigarette earlier that night.

A part of him told himself that it was useless worrying about his pride anymore, that soon he'd have to suck Blake's dick to get himself everything in his new after-life, and that he'd best get used to it. Yet the stubborn, dominant personality of his that was fostered and lavished upon by his upbringing made him want to simply grab Blake and choke him into near death until he agreed to help. Not that it could ever happen of course- Jayden knew that getting into a fight with Blake would only have one outcome. Punching him in the interrogation room had been the closest thing he had to a fight with the older male- yet it was obvious that he had not been in the mood to fuck around in that particular instince, hence the gun in his face.

Having thought of that, negative feelings for the man in blue rose up again in his head as he told himself there was simply _no way_ he could do this. His pride couldn't handle it, the humiliation itself making him wish he had starved and wasted away instead.

'_Think of your family, you selfish prick…'_

Jayden winced at his own sharp thoughts- that's right. He was going to have Blake check on his family while down in D.C. He needed to make sure his sister was doing okay- surely, she must have taken it the worse out of all his siblings. Besides Blake's cut, he wanted to make sure a sustainable portion of his funds made its way to her bank account.

Not to mention give her his house- he knew she had problems with her ex-husband, whom kept dropping by her house begging for cash like the piece of shit he was. It was even worse that she just had a child to the man- and pregnant with another when he last saw her. The fact that the kid she was pregnant with wasn't his- was enough to send the stalker into enough rage to occasionally deface her house.

Usually, Jayden was the one who had to drive on up to Baltimore and teach the shit a lesson with his authority as a member of the FBI, yet he could only do so much when he was in fact already gone. When he did track the man to the highway, ARI never could pick up exactly which way he went, what with all the innumerable tire tracks.

His mom had always been suicidal. Though she never tried it, she always threatened to jump off the nearest bridge. Usually they just shrugged it off, because it was never over anything serious. Her periods of depression, however, would surely be aggravated by the fact that one of her older children had been brutally killed. His father- well his father he could give two shits about, honestly. Jayden wished he could say differently, yet he knew he'd be deluding himself.

A feeling that could only be described as ice water washed through the young man, and he knew at that point that he had to do something. His pride wasn't worth his sister suffering at the hands of that piece of shit ex, or his mother actually doing herself in. Wasn't worth having the FBI search his house and find out all those personal experiments he did with ARI written down in notebooks thrown haphazardly under his bed. They would simply cover it up- it would never be revealed what sort of possibilities- and dangers- arose from the mind-tapping device.

Jayden would not, however, stoop that low just yet. He would like to think he was never a pessimistic person, so he figured he could try and get Blake to think of something that would work as a payment. In the back of his head, Jayden told himself that he was simply fucking with him, that he never attempted to help him and would refuse anything he offered, anyway. What surprised him the most was that he even turned down money, and not just some cash…His whole life savings. Enough to practically retire on.

He never met a person he couldn't buy- to be honest. Someone he couldn't sway with money. Not that he did it on a regular basis. Only on the rarest of occasion did he attempt it, and it really didn't even take much money. Yet, to Blake it meant almost nothing. This was why he was left shocked at the man's refusal- because money talked. He knew that from his own family. Money made the world go 'round.

With a sigh, Jayden tugged at his outside suit jacket, and finally took it off and threw it on the ground. It, along with his other leather jacket lay somewhere within the virtual world now. He knew it lay just beyond the house, safe and sound. Real in its own plane…Holding all the characteristics it had when it was real.

'_None of this makes any fucking sense. I shouldn't be here. I'm dead. My clothes are probably thrown away in some morgue trash-can. I'm either laying on a cold, metal slab in a cooler somewhere, or they're pumping me with formaldehyde for my burial…Doing that thing where they cork your ass and put makeup on your face so you look like you're just sleeping.'_

It was rather depressing when he thought about it. That his real body was poisoned forever not only by the triptocaine, but also now by a chemical as it awaited burial. Rendered complexly useless and intoxicated. All he could do now was rot six feet in the ground with hopefully a nice gravestone sitting on top. He had hoped it would say something nice, something that wasn't true. Norman wasn't interested in his family knowing the truth, about the man they never really took the time to know.

Norman got up, and tried to keep a positive head. He wasn't sure what he was now. Was he alive or dead? His brain was dead, the physical part of it. Yet everything he was lived on, his thoughts, personality, memories…Even his body survived in a way, in virtual form. Was he simply a ghost in the machine? A brain without a body? He stewed over this until he began to bite his nails, his right hand raking through his hair as he messed it about.

'_Maybe there's some virtual food inside my virtual kitchen…'_ Jayden sarcastically thought.

'_Worth a try'_, he decided, and stumbled on towards the steps again as he made his way up, hoping the world wouldn't change on him again before he could sneak a bite.

* * *

The morning sun snuck through the windows of Carter Blake's lonely house. It was about noon, and strangely enough cicadas found themselves rasping outside in the midday heat. He shifted a bit, moaning a little into the pillow as he felt the cool sheets touch his warm skin. It felt good, somehow. His skin had been so leathery and toughened over the years, he was amazed that he could even feel something so supple. There were even "dead" spots on his body from having been shot- healed, yet the nerves in said area never fully being repaired. He just thanked his own good fortune that he was never shot in the balls.

His head pulsed a bit in a normal morning-after-drinking headache, yet surprised himself when he didn't feel particularly sick. He'd guessed it was from the food- which he had a good bit of before he got the call from Perry then started to drink and smoke like a fiend to calm his nerves.

Tuesday he'd have to attend Norman's funeral. At least he'd get the day off and maybe snoop around D.C. while he was down there, he was sure there had to be something else to do in the nation's capital, for certain. Not to mention now the state was paying for his gas down there, making it actually not so bad when he thought about it.

'_Just go down, look all sad and depressed, say your condolences to the family…all that bullshit…grab a couple drinks at a local bar or something, fucking see a monument or whatever, then head home. Maybe if I'm lucky, I might even enjoy myself.'_

Then for a brief moment, he considered Jayden's little proposal. Even if he wanted to do it, he wasn't sure if he had the time. Technically, he could just forgo the sightseeing or even drinking to take care of the kid's problem, then exit out so he could collect all his money and use it to fix the car out back. Maybe have a little left over to buy a high-class whore for a few hours. He scowled as he rubbed that last idea out- remembering the nasty case of crabs he got from the last time he tried that. At least they were long-gone now.

Was it really worth it? Worth practically breaking into a former FBI agent's house and doing God-knows-what he wanted done- all so the virtual version of Norman would be satisfied? Could "rest in peace"?

Blake tried to focus more on what it would mean for him. Money, not to mention knowledge on how to use the fancy glasses he had acquired. He'd be lying if he said he didn't like them, almost completely forgetting the so called "yuppie technology" line of thought that gave Blake some distrust in the agent to begin with. He found himself eager to find out how to use all it's features, once he went back to work on Monday he'd be able to get the glove back and could experiment further.

'_You should talk to him today- find out what those weird headaches were last night. Make sure you're not killing yourself slowly. Not that the cigs aren't doing that, already.'_

His pride didn't want him to ask for any help from the snot-nosed queer. In the same sense, though, he didn't particularly want to die. He knew he had a good twenty to thirty or so years ahead of him. There were things he wanted to see and do before that time came, and wasn't about to be held back by some government bullshit technology giving him a deadly brain tumor.

The lieutenant groaned and shifted again in his bed, knowing it was probably time to get up if he wanted to enjoy his day off. He fancied himself some bacon and eggs- maybe even pancakes if he was feeling especially talented with a box of fucking Bisquick and water.

He lay back down and closed his eyes, listening to the traffic outside as it picked up. It was oddly lulling him into another short slumber, and slept for another thirty minutes before his bladder woke him back up. With a groan, he pulled himself out of bed, and didn't realize how awake he really was until he began to walk about, running his hand through his short, salt-and-pepper hair.

'_God, should have got up an hour ago…' _He disciplined himself, but ignored it as he walked to the bathroom.

Carter swore he couldn't stop pissing- it kept coming and coming- he laid his head back and stared at the ceiling in deep thought. Well, not that deep. He was actually thinking over the talk with Perry yesterday, biting his tongue when he was told he could be suspended if he didn't comply with what the mayor wanted. Much like he was the captain's little go-to guy, Perry was practically kissing the mayor's ass to keep his high-paying job. Blake would be suspended with pay of course, but the station would go to hell and he'd be left in the dark about damn near everything. They might even find somebody better at his job- that's what terrified him the most.

Finishing the long piss, he shook his member and put himself away. Flushing the toilet, and then washing his hands, he heard his cell phone go off in his bedroom. With a slight groan-, he hoped it wouldn't interrupt his Sunday.

Jogging carefully, he sprinted towards the ringing flip-style phone and picked it up.

"Ash…" He said aloud as he read from the screen, then sighed, feeling his teeth clench from instinct.

Opening the phone, he placed it to his ear and greeted the detective with a sigh, letting it slip from his lips as he demonstrated how much of a pain in the ass he was being at the moment.

"Yeah?"

"Shit, Blake…I've been calling you since seven in the morning. What the hell?"

Blinking in slight surprise, he pulled the phone away and squinted as saw the small "voicemail" logo blinking at the top of his cell screen. He cursed himself for being so fucked up he couldn't even hear the phone.

"I got a little shit-faced last night." Blake groaned, "I couldn't get up if a fucking bomb hit the place…"

Another sigh of frustration echoed on Ash's line, and he felt anger rise in his own throat. God forbid he not jump out of bed for his ass- what so important he couldn't wait to tell him in a text message or voice mail?

"We found Shelby."

Blake's blood ran cold, his mouth going dry. He opened it and swallowed to clear his throat.

"Is he…"

"Yeah," Ash admitted, he could tell what Carter's question was going to be. "He's dead. Turns out a mother of one the victims shot him point-blank on the street last night. He had a gun on him but it wasn't discharged- not sure if we're going to trial her for manslaughter or what. I'd sooner give her a medal."

Ash finished with that smartass little laugh of his. Blake cringed- the detective always was a little rat bastard. They got along well most of the time, but more then enough times he had to drop down his hammer of authority. Ash was from New York originally, and had that snide, dickish attitude still. If they were holding a "top asshole" contest at the precinct, he was pretty sure Ash would still win over him.

"Fuck off- He was my partner for years, asshole. The least you could do is not fucking laugh about it."

There was a scoff, and a slight laugh on the other line, and he knew that prick was just boiling over with what to say next.

"Yeah? Well now he's a child killer. Or at least, he was. Now he's down at the morgue on a metal slab watting- waiting for us to come see him like the poor dead 'stiff that he is."

Slipping on his words Ash finished in a huff, and it was a simultaneous invitation while he was at it. Blake bit his bottom lip and growled deep in his throat. He knew that to be very true, and when he was informed about the evidence that linked Scott to the killings- he couldn't believe it. There was simply no way- Shelby was a fucking teddy bear. They got along famously because he was the perfect fit alongside Blake's harsh attitude, cushioning the barbs that were his curses and laughing back at his filthy, vulgar jokes.

"Goddamn it, Ash- don't you think I fucking know that? You think I'm a _fucking _idiot?" Blake roared into the phone.

"…Now stop being an asshole and leave me alone. It's my day off."

There was a growl in Ash's throat on the other end of the line. A small silence followed, as if he was unsure what to say. Blake could hear some clanging on the other end- as well as someone talking.

"-the fuck are you, anyway?"

"I'm in that diner down the street from the precinct- it's my lunch break. Listen, you know we need to go over this case-"

"Not today." Blake returned, breathing out a sigh. "I'm too fucking hung over- not to mention it's been forever since I had a Sunday off since these killings started up again…Fucking cut me some slack, Ash."

"I'm not your boss, asshole." Ash threw back, "You don't want to come in? Whatever. We'll do this shit first thing on Monday. I just thought you'd want to be on top of this-"

"Well excuse the hell out of me for enjoying myself on a Saturday night. Crucify me, for fuck's sake. I had to drink after what Perry called us about."

"Jesus Christ- I know. What the fuck?"

"Yeah. I _know. _Why the hell we 'haff to be there? I don't get it."

"'Mayor's trying to cover his ass. You know that." Ash paused and thanked somebody in the background.

"-Hey, more coffee?" He seemed to be asking someone. "…Yeah, fresh this time, please…"

"…Waitress just gave me a dirty look, think she'll spit in it?"

"Probably." Carter grumbled back. "We'll talk about that shit tomorrow- I didn't eat yet today."

"Oh, well sorry princess…" Came the man's smartass reply. "I'll leave you to you're royal duties."

"Fuck you, Ash." Blake muttered and hung up the phone with a grumble.

Sometimes they got along famously…Other times, he swore he wanted to knockout that snide bastard. Yet he honestly wasn't nearly as bothered by it because he knew him and Ash were cut from the same cloth. He remembered hearing him talk about growing up on the streets, taking care of his mother because his dad skipped out on them. While Blake himself may have grown up in the country- at the lovely age of thirteen his parents had to move into the city because his mother's jackass brother fell asleep on the couch smoking a cigarette, burning to square to the ground. It was such a jolt to go from green hills to beige, dirty city streets. It was mortifying, but despite his hard-ass, abusive father, he at least had someone to lean on.

Carter turned around and walked towards the kitchen, but stopped himself as he eyed his weight set.

'_Few reps first…'_

He took pride in his ability to bench press about three-hundred and fifty pounds on most days- sometimes increasing it to four-hundred on the good ones. It he didn't work out each day, he felt horrible and useless. His body felt like it was screaming to be challenged, much like his brain did. Sometimes he went for a jog if he was feeling it, even if the occasional cigarette made it slightly challenging to breathe. He really did plan to quit completely soon- he told himself he would once this business with Shelby and Jayden wrapped up.

Ripping his shirt off, he pulled it up over his head and flung it in his pile of dirty clothes. Under his shirt had lain a relatively firm chest with some well-defined abs. There was a hint of a beer-belly, but it was extremely small and firm considering his age and lifestyle. Chest hair lined the top near his pecs and neckline, though there was more of a skin-to-fur ratio. He absent-mindingly scratched the scar on his left pectoral muscle, a gun shot from years ago that he just barely survived. It punctured his lung and had him in intensive care for months.

It wasn't the only gunshot wound he had- it matched one he had on the right side of his abs, one in his right thigh and through the left shoulder. It only helped to harden the already callous man. Each one a mere mark on a scoreboard. It didn't include the many knife and fight wounds he had, either. The marks were smooth, and at times oddly shaped. They covered a good ten to twenty percent of his body- but he likened them more to trophies.

Laying down on the bench, he groaned as he shifted under the weight bar and inhaled deeply in anticipation. Wrapping his hands about the bar, he took another deep breath as he pulled it off the bar's holder and let it partially fall towards his chest, then exhaled as he pushed it up towards the ceiling. He did this a good twenty times, slowly, with the hundred-pound setting. Then he stopped and upped it another fifty pounds, continuing this process until he reached two-hundred fifty. He pushed himself a little further as his heart rushed from the exertion- taking it as a challenge to get the most he could out of the workout.

After doing four-hundred and five, he finally breathed in massive relief as he set the bar back down. Not having a spotter made him nervous to do much more. He hadn't worked out at the police gym for a while; there was almost never a free machine or weight bench available. Carter didn't know if he could handle watching other men working out harder then him, anyway. He'd have to step up his game and nearly kill himself in the process. His age and vices keeping him from going as far as he wanted to achieve a powerful, dominating appearance.

Filled with sweat, he knew now that he would have to take a shower. His hair clung to his head, chest heaving in exertion as it clung to his skin as well. Standing up, he panted heavily and wiped the sweat from his brow, walking to his bathroom and opening the window in there to get some cool air into the room. To his surprise, it was warm outside. At least a good sixty-five degrees.

'_Fucking weird-ass Pennsylvania weather…Though I really shouldn't complain. I haven't seen a real sun in weeks.'_

Removing his boxer shorts, he stood up with a deep exhale and turned on the water, waiting for it to be warm enough to stand under. He moaned once more as the water made its way over his sore and overworked muscles, the large biceps flexing under his flesh as he rubbed the soap over himself. He swore he must have been under it for a good twenty minutes, just relishing the way it felt on his stressed physique.

Blake smiled as his hand made its way below his waist, rubbing his crotch and pumping his length gently in more of a casual motion then a full-fledged masturbation. For a moment, he thought about the average Hollywood starlet or lingerie model. Yet for some reason, it really wasn't doing the trick. He frowned and raked his top teeth over his bottom lip, licking his lips and grunting in frustration.

'_Shit. Why the hell not?…'_

Stopping for a minute to clear his head, he decided he was done fucking around. He grabbed his slightly up curved-dick and began to stroke slowly, imagining a large-breasted, blonde-haired slut was giving him a hand job. It started to work, and his head lay back as he closed his eyes to go deeper into his fantasy.

Then something flashed into the older man's mind that both disturbed and invigorated him. Norman's soft, smooth face with the small scar on his right cheek of unknown origin. On his knees, still dressed in that pristine gray jacket as he looked up at him with those pale eyes. He seemed quite happy (but didn't smile) to be jacking him off. His soft and delicate hands wrapping perfectly about his cock as he looked from his face to the member itself, tilting his head as if studying it.

That's when the moan escaped his lips and his mouth parted to let it escape. He leaned forward and placed his hand on the opposite side of the shower as the effect took him out of his normal realm of casual arousal. It was then when he noticed he was wrought-iron hard, pre-cum spritzing from the slit as he bit his bottom lip again, feeling his dick twitch as he escaped the fantasy.

'_What. The. __**Fuck?'**_

Still hard, but not doing anything to fix it, he stood in the shower as the warm water continued to rain down about him.

'_You know that shit isn't right, Carter.' _He disciplined himself.

'_You don't fucking jack off to men.'_

Yet it did the trick, and now that he was attempting to put himself off, it wept for him to finish. His heart throbbed in his chest both from arousal and shame, racing in excitement at a new fantasy to indulge in.

It did the trick, though. Whereas before he couldn't get himself excited about the average run-of-the-mill sex romp with a hot model, all it took was a moment to think about dominating his formal rival to get him going. Taking himself back in his hands, he again began to think of the girl. As before, however, it didn't amount to much.

"Fuck…" Carter swore at himself, then looked around the shower in a reflex action to make sure nobody was looking, even in his own house.

'_It's not like anyone could see into your thoughts anyway, you dumb fuck.'_

He didn't feel filthy or sinful, instead, he only was concerned with the normal homophobia that most men his age carried with them. Did fantasizing about a man mean that he was gay? Even if he was just giving him a good hand-job…Even if it was technically an act of dominance more then an act of lust, and the arousal he felt was from the effect of expressing his alpha-male status on the other male below him.

'_If anyone walked up to you in private and started jerking you off, you wouldn't give a fuck what they looked like. It's not like you're fucking or anything. Just an HJ…'_

Blake reasoned with himself, desperately wanting the sensations to return to his body without the fear of being labeled a homo in his own mind.

'_Just do it, no one has to know. Not even Norman. Especially not Norman…'_

The hand quickly made it's way to his crotch again, stroking slowly as the fantasy made it's way easily back into his main focus. The thoughts came fluidly and oddly natural- like he was right in front of him in reality, and not just an effect of his imagination.

Yet Blake was always good with his fantasies- just like with his dreams, he was able to envision them in absolute detail. And while most people could control most visions they had in their waking hours- his creations took on a life of their own. He watched as he stood naked in front of Jayden, seeing the younger man look him in the eye then back at his dick as a blush overcame his normally pale face. This made the lietenant smile like a Cheshire cat- practically grinning from ear to ear as he watched the embarrassed man gently take his length again in his hands without any more hesitation, as if he was interrupted rather rudely from his task before hand.

Norman's hands were like silk- the effect of being a pampered young man. Never working a backbreaking job or task as long as he lived. It had a surprisingly wonderful effect on his own skin- that particular part of his body being the only soft, supple flesh he owned. The sensation rippled through his cock and made its way up his back, where he craned his head slightly and gasped at the feel.

His pumping was just right, starting slow and rubbing the base just a little with the off-occasional stroke. Like instinct, he felt himself rise up a little bit more in the other person's hand- and envisioned himself sneak a look down to notice Norman had been catching glimpses of his face to watch for reactions. This made his back tingle again and warmth spread throughout his chest and crotch- an embarrasing blush making it's way across his face.

'_He's __**trying**__ to pleasure me. Not just going through the motions. Holy shit…' _

A low moan passed his open and gasping lips when he felt the kid go for his balls- cupping them in his left hand and rubbing the engorged organs with his thumb. Carter's breath began to quicken, panting as he struggled not to get too excited and come just yet- he was enjoying this far too much. He desperately wanted to touch Norman back- and that thought disturbed him- wanted to take the kid's hair in his hand and curl through those soft brown locks. For now he fought the urge- instead fisting his hands to his sides as they twitched open and close in irritation.

'_If only you were a chick- Oh shit…Oh, God…'_

Unexpectedly, Norman ran his tongue along the head of his length. Just a flick- not even much. Yet it was too much too soon, he wasn't ready to feel the warmth of the kid's mouth. Carter felt his body react before he could stop it, tensing with his muscles vibrating and quivering in orgasm. His mouth parted as he felt the cry of utter ecstasy escape past his white teeth. He licked his lips and panted hard as he attempted to catch his breath, his heart hammering again and chest heaving as his body attempted to recover.

"Shit…" Carter swore, noticing that he had came with such force; the wall in the shower he faced was covered with cum. He watched it with a sort of sick curiosity as he collected his bearings, the feeling of euphoria still rushing through his veins. The last time he had a hand-job that good, he was still in his twenties. Feeling like this made him feel a good thirty years younger, and he breathed deep again as he attempted to collect his bearings.

'_Damn, that was good. I need to do this more often.'_

The shame of having just masturbated to a man (though he would never have admitted to it in that way) washed over him only slightly. Yet the feeling he had received from it lasted far longer. As he shut off the water (noticing his hands were pruned from the result) he couldn't help but begin to roll over a little idea in his head.

Jayden was his now- and only his. At least, as long as he held those glasses in his possession. He'd be goddamned if anybody was going to take them away from him anytime soon. Nobody would find out…Nobody would know. Sure, Blake would always have that creeping homophobia in the back of his mind, yet it wasn't something he couldn't brush aside. He wasn't one for deciphering tough moral choices. Not that he intended to do the wrong thing; he simply always found the righteousness in them. The end, he figured, always justified the means.

'_The kid's not even real anymore…It's just like having a sex toy, eh? A dirty little secret, sure…What's wrong with having a few more?'_

Blake argued with himself as he dried off, going back and forth. Not so much asking if he was right as much as he was trying to answer his own confusing feelings. He told himself it was simply the act of dominating the little shit- it felt just as good with a woman as it did with a man, he reasoned.

'_Since when do you care what people think of you? You have the little shit now. Use him.'_

Dressing into his robe, Blake felt alive with anticipation as he wondered how to go about this. Norman did, after all, want him to think of a payment. Blake was positive he wouldn't want to do it at first, but that was okay. He was good at convincing people of things they either didn't actually do (or in his mind, didn't _want_ to admit they did) or wanted to do. Sometimes it would take a while, of course, and he wasn't a patient man. Yet when it came down to the wire, most people caved before he did. Not to mention, if worse came to worse he was certain he could overpower the younger, more supple man.

Blake felt himself through his robe- surprised that he was developing erection already. He wondered why he didn't feel this way about the kid until now. Part of him told him it was just a fluke- that Norman entered his fantasies simply because he was in his thoughts lately. Yet another part told him it wasn't a shock at all.

While working the Origami Case, Blake at times felt a certain fatherly emotion towards the young agent. When he wasn't hating Jayden's arrogant, prestigious little ass, he looked towards him with an odd sort of curiosity. He wondered if he was cold sometimes- wanting to ask it a few times while in the car together, but his venomous hatred wrapped up in his pride made him bite back his tongue. He wanted to congratulate him for beating several shades of shit out of Korda and even killing Mad Jack (he still could barely believe that shit) yet he never wanted to admit Norman did something he hadn't had the opportunity to.

'_That's a far stretch from wanting to fuck somebody, though.'_

It was true, too. Because of this, Blake wondered again if there had been a time he considering wanting anything to do with the other man's body. He remembered thinking he had a nice, tight ass. Though it was more of a joke to himself, he figured it explained the agent's uptight attitude. Starting out, he was taken aback by Norman's ghostly pale blue eyes- the soft pink of his lips. He convinced himself at the time it wasn't sexual, just admitting the attractive features of another man.

'_Fuck. I better not be turning queer.'_

Walking towards his bedroom, he pulled out the oak drawer of his dresser and began to rummage through the underwear available. He couldn't wait to eat- and when he was done, he'd visit Norman in ARI to run the idea through the little bastard's head. A nervous smile tugged at his lips, his heart quickening with anticipation and even anxiety at how it would work out.

'_I wonder if he's as good as I think he is.' _The cop thought, surprisingly giddy and hopeful as he couldn't stop the nervous smirk on his face, putting his leg through into one of the pant-legs and stumbling across the floor.

Walking out into his kitchen, Blake opened his refrigerator and gazed at the food available.

'_Fuck it. It's too nice to eat in here, I'm cooking outside.'_


	5. Strange Ways

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Blake/Jayden. Blayden. Cursing, oral sex between two men. (Heh-heh- ALRIGHT.) Increasing fantasy and sci-fi elements.**

Author's Note: **THANKS TO EVERYONE FOR THE REVIEWS! I once again mention that if you haven't already, or hell even if you have, please drop a line to tell me how I'm doing. I'm up for any criticisms, I'm a prefectionist, so I need to know what I can do to improve even something I think is damn near presentable- though I love gushings as well. I know I'm awesome, but I need more support. ;)**

**I also re-iterate that if you have a Blayden fic you haven't updated...DO IT. And if you haven't written one...DO IT. I love reading those things, it makes my day. Make me happy and I'll make you happy, deal?**

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**_"...that machine near the table will generate waves acting on unrecognized sense organs that exist in us as atrophied or rudimentary vestiges. Those waves will open up to us many vistas unknown to man and several unknown to anything we consider organic life. We shall see that at which dogs howl in the dark, and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight. We shall see these things, and other things which no breathing creature has yet seen. We shall overleap time, space, and dimensions, and without bodily motion peer to the bottom of creation...I have seen beyond the bounds of infinity and drawn down demons from the stars...I have harnessed the shadows that stride from world to world to sow death and madness..."- _**_H.P. Lovecraft, "From Beyond"_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

Jayden managed to find some "virtual" food in the old kitchen cabinets. Just like he remembered, they squeaked as they opened and a few almost fell off their hinges. Dad never was a handyman. The room resembled a mix between old and modern, with there being a tiled island in the middle with high chairs on the opposite side, yet an old-style set of kitchen cabinets on the other, not painted but simply made of stained wood. A large bay window opened to the left side that displayed the section where land had laid instead of the sea.

Birds sang outside and matched with the calling of galls. He poked his head outside and let a smile creep across his face at the sheer and utter realism this place held. It was just about as good as being alive and actually there. Hell, in a way it was better because his family wasn't there to bother the piss out of him about getting married and spitting out kids of his own.

Not that Norman didn't want kids- despite his orientation he toyed with the idea of having a kid with a surrogate mother. Not until he met somebody he could be with for years, though. Of course, that was all out the window now. You can't exactly impregnate somebody if you're not alive. Still, he was rather irritated with the constant nags from his mother especially- wanting even more grandkids. Especially from the one child of hers she considered the most handsome.

He wondered briefly if he could ever see her again- if he was in fact any sort of real and could ever see her in this plane of existence. Yet he let it roll off his back- he was making progress. There was something to him- something more real then an illusion. He would unravel this mystery slowly, but it would be done. Norman was sure of it, because it was the only thing he had left.

Out came a box of Twinkies, and he looked it over to see how real it was. The box looked just when it did the last time it was there. Christ, that was five years ago. He tipped it and watched, listened as the plastic weighted wrapper slid down and towards his hand, planting itself in his palm with a crinkly tone.

'_Fuck me. Junk food never looked so good.'_

Quickly unwrapping the spongy food from its plastic casing, he crammed it into his mouth so fast the cream filling practically shot out. He giggled in his throat at the sexual implications of the sugary insides exploding from his lips, then licked them clean as he swallowed it whole, nearly gagging him on the way down.

It wasn't as satisfying as he remembered Twinkies being all those years ago- and it was somewhat tasteless. It had the same texture and substance, yet knew what he was eating was no more real then he was- maybe less.

"Right, okay…" Norman muttered aloud, just so he could hear someone else's voice in the lonely house.

"Let's try something else, then…"

Norman searched the fridge next- finding a carton of whole milk and taking a swig. There was a slight delayed reaction as his face contorted into something resembling utter disgust.

"AH! Ah- sweet Christ!"

He found himself spitting out the curdled, expired milk into the kitchen sink, turning on the water to wash it down. Scooping the flowing tap water into his hands, he rinsed his mouth out of all its contents.

Apparently, the food was real enough to spoil for having sat for years. He looked over the carton and noticed it expired in June, in the year 2007. His lip twisted in revulsion at having the substance in his mouth.

Norman tore apart the kitchen- finding rotten meat in the fridge and long-expired, perishable foods in the cupboards. It also wasn't until then that he had smelled and found rotting fruit in a basket on the counter. A small swarm of fruit flies making it their home.

In anger, the young agent threw down the old milk carton, making it smash and explode onto the floor. As the smelly substance leaked out, he immediately regretted his actions, yet shrugged it off as he made his way towards couch and splayed out, laying stomach-down and sprawling his legs up towards the top and arms over the side.

On cue- his still unsatisfied stomach rumbled noisily.

* * *

Carter gathered a few things into his arms, making his way outside onto the small porch he had out back. He carried a few sausage links and bacon, uncooked and still packaged. Placing them on a small table next to the rusty grill, he cringed at the neighbors next door who were playing some poppy, auto-tuner kid's music far too loud. Actually, that sort of music in any tone would have been bad…But to have it blasting too loud for him to think was enough to commit some well-deserved assault.

"Hey!" He yelled over towards the neighbor's yard, not getting a response.

Gritting his teeth, Blake stepped forward, looking over the slightly taller wooden fence to catch a glimpse of the next-door's snot-nosed brat. A boy about seventeen or so looked back at him with a "fuck you, old man" expression, his blond hair and acne-strewn face spinning his way. He was shirtless just like him, the kid's scrawny arms and chest making him practically laugh at how pathetic he was- an easy beat down for sure.

"Hey, _turn that shit down!"_

The kid seemed to completely ignore him as he walked away and into his house. He heard the brat call for his dad, whom he knew to be an arrogant up-tight dip-shit who kept his yard nice and tidy and practically shit himself when a leaf from his yard blew over into his.

Blake snarled much like a dog- standing back and licking his top row of teeth like a pit bull in its fighting stance. Just like said dog, he felt himself cruely restricted by a fence.

'_Yeah, get your faggot dad. I'm real fucking scared, kid.'_

Making his way back to his table, he pulled his cooker out and moved it more towards the outer part of his porch. Lifting up the black-stained grill portion, he opened a nearby bag of charcoal and poured some in. There was a carton of lighter fluid under the table that was stained and wet from the downpour of rain, but he still picked it up and sprayed it heavily onto the charcoal so it would light. He walked inside when he remembered he needed a lighter- he came out with his Zippo and carton of smokes, igniting it and replacing the grill portion.

As he waited for it to heat up, Blake went inside and fetched the old radio he used for outside. Using the protected outlet (that was covered with metal hinges to protect it from water); he plugged it in and promptly set it on the table.

'_Not gonna turn that shit down? Two can play that game, asshole.'_

Carter lightly smiled in satisfaction as he turned the radio on and moved the dial. He turned it to the nearest classical rock station- and smiled when he heard Ted Nugent's "Stranglehold" starting out. It had to be one of his favorites- bringing back memories of late nights in high school at many a party- the song playing loudly as he usually had an arm around a girl or two. Or, if not, solemnly drinking by himself at home. It hadn't been hard acquiring his father's alcohol.

Turning it up to an obviously ridiculus level, he looked over towards the neighbor to see the father storming out of the house, his kid trailing behind him. He was tall and wore a Cowboys jersey like the douche he was, his perfectly blond hair combed and gelled.

"What's you're fucking problem, man? Why're you talking to my kid like that?" The man tried, walking over to the wooden fence and peering over.

Blake sat down as he gave the neighbor a look that could kill. Nonchalantly, he reached across the table and took a cigarette from the red pack he had sat there, lighting it as though he honestly could give a shit about the entire situation.

"Hey! You hear me, pig?"

Laughing under his breath, he simply smiled nice and wide over towards the prick of a next-door neighbor.

"You know, just because you're a cop doesn't mean you can tell us what to do- We should be able to enjoy our own property, here. Nobody wants to see you're shitty car, listen to you're old fucking music- and for Christ's sake put on a shirt!"

Looking rather smug with that little bitch-fit, Blake nodded a little then leaned over, turning the music even louder. With a glance, he looked towards the taller man with a look of arrogance. He blew smoke out the side of his mouth as he sat back. Only a dick like him could make being calm so offensive. Blake watched as the man went to open his mouth again, then the off-duty lieutenant calmly extended his left hand and lifted his middle finger.

The neighbor cursed under his breath ("Son of a bitch…") and left him to smoke his cancer stick. Blake laughed rather darkly in satisfaction as he took another puff. He knew better then to fly off the handle with that shithead- they both knew how easy it would be for Blake to either beat seven shades of shit out of the scrawny bastard- or to haul him in for disturbing the peace. It got close at times, but he honestly found it more funny then anything.

It was sunny out. To him, it might has well had been eighty degrees. Of course, the news would later say it was only sixty-seven, but after going through such a cold, wet spell…It felt like Hawaii outside. It was still wet everywhere, rain-saturated leaves littering the ground outside were the only indication that it was indeed still fall- still October. It was no doubt the humidity that made it feel so warm out. There would be days like this, there always would be. Beautiful, warm days that were unseasonable, which was why he loved them so much. Yet it never lasted. Soon, too soon, it would start to snow. Perhaps three, four feet making it hard to get around town and having to help people out of the ditches their stupid asses got themselves into.

Sitting up, he ripped open the packages as the music began to wail- the long eight-minute song wailing through its guitar-laden middle stretch. Putting the food on the grill, his stomach lurched in sudden hunger, as it smelled the meat beginning to sizzle away. Taking a drag, he looked out into his yard as a smirk tugged across his lips. He thought of Norman for the first time since that morning. Times like this he would actually be glad to have some company.

For a moment, he envisioned Jayden sitting at his table, looking at him in that rather cute, boyish way as he held a beer. It made him smile a little, then he caught himself and immediately stopped, clearing his throat as he closed his eyes and sighed. For years, he'd been alone, and he was fine with that. Even if he and Ash were considered partners- he found himself always preferring to work alone if he could. Having others chime in their two cents was enough to send the mad-dog of a human being into fits of rage. From years of experience, he had found his own ways, methods to his madness of cold and calculating crime and punishment. Blake rather didn't like anybody cocking it up.

Yet one could only fight so hard against millions of years of evolution- and the fact of the matter was that humans were social creatures who thrived with the companionship of others. Even the mere presence of another human being in their midst on occasion was necessary for a healthy lifestyle. Even antisocial psychotics will go even further into madness once completely shut off from any human contact whatsoever. Therefore, - Carter Blake still liked to have people around on the odd occasion.

On his birthdays, he often had to wait all day until he was just about ready to leave- when somebody would mention it to him. Of course, he never got any cake or gifts- just a nod and a "by the way…" in acknowledgement from either Charlene or the occasional suck-up officer. For Charlene he'd smile and thank her- for anyone else he'd roll his eyes. No wonder why nobody thought to say anything- he rarely gave them the time of day let alone a "thank you" for a kindly birthday wish.

Holidays were a little better- at least everyone had to say or do something all together. There were drunken Christmas wishes, free Halloween candy and even free gift certificates for turkeys on Thanksgiving. Oh boy, did he ever feel special. The thing was that Blake would never admit that he so craved at least a little attention here and there. Just enough to make him get through some days without looking like a pansy ass to all those around him. His pride would suffer otherwise, and it was only thinly veiled piece of humanity he held left.

It had been a long stretch since he had any visitors; Ash came over along with some of the others for Superbowl parties. When the Eagles were playing the Patriots at the 2005 Superbowl, he actually got excited hosting the thing- not that everyone else on the block wasn't planning the same spiel. It made it even worse when they lost- but it was still a rather interesting experience. The small annoyances they made were enough to get on his nerves, though, and the minute they were gone he reminded himself why he didn't go out of his way for more social activities.

Having Norman "around" these last few days was actually rather exciting. Something shining and interesting in his rather depressing and empty life. It had been nice, he could admit, to have someone in his house…Even if it really wasn't "in his house" at all.

Carter rose to his feet and flipped the various food items on the grill, putting his fingers to his lips to pull the cigarette out, blowing his smoke from his mouth to join the same rising from the flames. Shuffling the bacon around, he turned them and reveled in the smell as it sizzled and crackled. He told himself he'd have to cook dinner out here, too. Hopefully the weather didn't turn to shit later on.

Time wore on as the tune on the radio changed to "The Zoo" by The Scorpions- Blake made a small noise of acceptance in his throat and tilted his head in a nod- another good one. He had gone inside to grab a beer, and he proceeded to chug it back, taking a few final puffs of the smoke against his lips and flicked it into the dewy grass. Eating his last piece of bacon, he sat back and let his muscles release. His shoulders lost their tension as he stared absent-mindingly into the vast abyss of the sparely cloudy sky.

Thumbing the rim of his beer bottle, he took another swig and rolled it about in his mouth before swallowing. A slight throb resounded in his chest as he once again thought of this afternoon in the shower. A slight blush overtook his face as he considered what he was going to say to the ex-agent. How he worded it would have to be very important- otherwise it was going to get awkward fast. Blake told himself he could always hold the fucker down, but that could turn the little pussy nasty. He had enough of bitchy woman on their fucking periods back when he was dating- he didn't need a whiney little bitch of a man acting the same way every time he popped in.

A nervous anxiety tugged at him, and his heart began to throb as the thought of what he was going to do continued to escalate. He would have to engage in a conversation, get him started talking, then he would have to insinuate what he wanted- and he was sure the kid would accept. So sure, actually, that he began to already fantasize exactly how it would go down. A heat developed in his stomach and lower back; making its way to his crotch and forcing his cock to slowly begin to pulse as his heart rate increased in response.

'_Goddamn.' _Carter swore in his head, his face flushing as he took a deep breath and sat back. _'I can't even remember the last time I wanted to fuck so bad.'_

Actually, yes, he could remember. For Ash's birthday last year- they had gone to a strip club. The place was pretty high-class, and Carter remembered being rather impressed at the place that Ash claimed he frequented. All the strippers had implants, tanned and looked to actually take care of themselves instead of the C-sectioned fat whores he was used to seeing at the strip joint down the road from the precinct. He had bought Ash a lap dance, yet one of the strippers had a penchant for cops- so she gave him one for free, too.

Before he knew it, oh God- her tits were right in his face.

They were fake, but because of that, they were perfect. Nice and round and practically touching his cheeks as she ground herself in his lap. Her brown hair fell about in locks around her face as the techno music pulsed in his ears- groaning as his hands reached for her hips- only to have them swatted away with a disciplinary finger wave. He had laughed a little and smiled from ear to ear, leaning back as the girl then rested herself on his lap with her butt in the air, grinding down on his erection as she bounced her curvy body against his girthy dick through his pants.

Yeah…He had wanted to fuck _her. _Fuck her into the ground so hard she wouldn't have a set of usable legs anymore. Now he found himself having the same unruly, fiery passion to fuck Norman into the carpet. To rip those smoke-gray slacks from his fighting, kicking legs and sink himself deep inside his tight, hot insides despite his protests. The thought of the kid's face averting his eye contact and blushing bright red made a tingle run to the base to the tip of his currently restrained erection. He wasn't hard- but it wouldn't take long.

'_That's it; let's get this show on the road. There's a game on later.'_

Getting up from his white plastic chair, he leaned over and stifled a burp as he shut the radio off. He was almost sorry that the neighbors now didn't have decent music to listen to anymore, he made his way inside his balmy house, he let the door hang open but his raggedy screen door closed in able to let some of the cool air in, and the warm air out. Though he was sure to latch it with the sad little iron hook in order to keep it closed against anybody below the strength of a toddler.

Blake was sure to grab a shirt from his drawer, a black button-down model with long sleeves. The fabric was thin, perfect for a day like today, where he was already feeling the sweat form on his brow. He unbuttoned the first few near his collar, and rolled the sleeves up carefully so they wouldn't easily come down. Taking a deep breath, he felt a bead of sweat roll down to his collar and hide beneath his shirt as it made its way down his back. Shivering in response, he leaned his head back and felt the very end of the stands on the back of his head touch the back of his neck- it felt good on his searing flesh.

'_-The fuck am I so nervous?' _The lieutenant growled to himself. _'I'm in charge here, since when has that changed? It's not like this is a first date or anything, for fuck's sake.'_

Yet deep down, Blake was far from ignorant of the reason why. What he was considering doing was very taboo in several ways. It was fucked up enough to be entering some virtual reality, let alone doing so because on the other side there was a man he had a sneaking suspicion was good with his hands…Also, possibly his tongue, and that warm and satisfying mouth. It would feel wonderful to teach that little fuck a much-needed lesson. Much like an alpha dog would mount the omega to keep him in line- he had an overwhelming desire to teach the uppity little prick who's boss.

'_He __**has**__ been good, lately.' _The cop mused. _'Not submissive enough, though. He still thinks he has it over me, can manipulate me…' _He reasoned to himself, feeling himself roll his tongue in flips over and under inside mouth in animalistic, predatory glee. As if his pride was about to be overtaken by a younger, far less experienced but opportunistic male. He would have to swat him down, put him in his place.

The cops's thoughts were shaky and maddening- like the thoughts of a mad man as he fought to sleep in the halls of an asylum. He found reasons for his feelings, his primal need to dominate and control expressing themselves in the common male way of using sex. They all did so in ways that seemed harmless- ties after all being symbolic for penises, cars and possessions being used to show personal wealth in order to be bigger, better then the next male down the block. Type A personalities like his sought to take possession of all around them.

When Norman had begun taking over the Origami Killer case, it enraged Blake quite unlike any other. The little shit stain had some nerve coming in, telling him how to do his job. The kid was just barely out of college for fuck's sake! His face bore only the effects of some previous escapade that resulted in a scar on his right cheek, but besides that was flawless, young, no hint of long nights or a tough, hardened life. He was soft, like a lump of clay that needed sculpting. Needed rolled about on the floor to collect dirt and debris, left out to harden as it experienced the pain of life.

Blake had taken people's lives; more then he could count or remember. He had seen rape victims beaten into bloody masses so badly they would never have a socially acceptable face again. Impregnated or even infected with AIDS because of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Had seen organs placed in mailboxes, arms strewn in street drains, people living with dead bodies rotting away inside their houses. Blake had been there when houses burned visiously with whole families inside, and could nothing but watch as even firefighters struggled to put the building out, let alone enter.

He saw the results of brothers killing brothers- fathers stabing their own children- mothers drowning their own infants. Drug deals that went wrong and effected famlies down the street- stray bullets taking down children, robbery increasing as the girls were raped and the men left bleeding in the streets. All picked dry of money like animals picked dry of flesh on the African plains. All the while, that little hotshot shit from Washington implied he was incompetent- uneducated, even psychotic. The last one he could at least partially agree on…At least he _had_ an excuse. Norman didn't have one, he reasoned, for being such a fucking asshole.

The best way to describe the lieutenant was that he had been to Hell- and come back. The gates he recognized well, its keeper opening them at will for such a beast to depart, well aware and very sure that some day he would return. Unleashing a devil in a blue shirt and tie upon the world in guise of human form as he strode between two paradoxal worlds like a ghost drifting through the ether. Yet ghosts were dead, and Carter Blake was very much alive. Very much like a demon-, while Norman Jayden seemed very much like the pretty archangel he had made himself out to be. Soft, supple, easily fowled. He had fallen from grace, and his wings shattered. Unable to ever fly with God ever again, instead trapped in the underworld with his cruel tormentor as punishment for his mistake.

With a new, strange sort of anger reignited within him, Carter found himself making way towards the ARI he sat on the nightstand next to the bed. Picking them up, he walked back into the next room and stood for a minute in the living room once more. He had avoided the temptation of simply sitting on the bed, declaring that far too obvious a choice. Instead, he simply slipped them on where he stood, and was quite surprised when the room changed and shifted into a new place once again.

Now he felt strange warmth all over as he stood at the bottom of what appeared to be a tropical ocean. Tall, green seaweed and colorful coral fluttered about him, strands of sea grass in bunches all about. He found himself once more glaring about like an idiot- walking around in circles as he took in the sheer amount of realistic, wholly beautiful objects that littered the ocean floor. He walked beyond the normal, cleared area he was most likely supposed to be kept in. In the back of his mind he thought he'd smack into one of his walls, but it never happened as he continued to stare at the scenery around him.

Small, colorful tropical fish shot around him, some in schools and some simply by themselves. Oranges, reds, purples, combinations of all of those and more. Blake's mind was effectively blown, and couldn't figure out if any of those wild color combinations actually existed, or were pure acts of imagination by the ARI's developers. He reached up to grab a few as they swam by, yet they dashed out of the way in a lightning-quick motion that he simply never could follow.

Carter made a cooing noise in his throat at the display, watching as the black and white damselfish and a few angels of varying species played in the coral, or swam in the blue expanse above. Darting left and right, stuttering as they sat and shook, looking up and down as they either lazily moved about or flew out of the way to avoid being a meal. A large shadow made its way over the spot before him, and watched in curiosity as it moved closer. He looked up, watching as a sand tiger shark cruised lazily over the man in black. For a moment, his breath hitched in his chest- until he realized once more that this was all an illusion. Just an incredibly realistic one, that's all.

Shoving that aside, he instead began to enjoy the fish's company. He admired the fellow predatory beast with a natural inlaid curiosity. The monster's mouth was full and lined with crooked teeth that pointed in every direction, its eyes spaced wide as its dead-looking pupils moving and twitching to gaze at him momentarily as he cruised on by, shifting only a little to see his position on the ocean floor. It's grey, sand-papery skin catching the above-sun's rays as it glided by. Its tail shot from side to side suddenly as if startled, and almost on instinct Blake turned around to suddenly find himself a few feet from Jayden himself.

"Holy shit, kid…" Blake swore, heart hammering in his chest.

"You're going to give me a fucking heart attack pulling that shit with me."

Blake looked Jayden up and down, noticing his suit jacket was gone and shirt was partially untucked. His face looked like he had planted himself into a couch cushion or some other type of fabric, lines imprinted into the soft flesh. He looked even worse then before- tired, disheveled and beaten. The color in his face that he seemed to be regaining was once again draining- sapping his strength along with it.

Shrugging his shoulders, Jayden looked towards the sandy ocean floor and mumbled an apology.

"Sorry…" His light blue eyes looked even paler now as he glanced down, like the eyes of a dead man.

The lieutenant sighed angrily and turned around; watching the shark glide away now as it made it is way towards deeper seas.

"Where's this supposed to be?"

Norman seemed to look off past him, seeming to go into a daze as his mind floated elsewhere.

"'Off the Florida coast, I think…"

Blake looked the ex-agent up and down, taking in the kid's drowsy state and formulating his own internal theories.

"What's wrong with you? You look like shit."

In response, Norman smirked those smoothly plump lips of his and eyed him from the corner of his deadening orbs.

"…I should…I'm dead."

There was a small silence from both men as Carter forced out a laugh that almost sounded like a snort.

"…Naw, I wouldn't call what you are…'Dead' anymore, Jayden." The cop jeered.

"I've seen plenty of stiffs in my day; you don't look like any of 'em. You're something else. Walking dead, maybe?"

Jayden lazily stumbled a few feet to his right side, smiling just a little at the tease.

"You mean…What, a zzombie?" He laughed, darkly. "I'm starting to feel like one, actually. I c-could go for sssome brains right about now. Hell, anything… I'd eat a fucking clump of dirt if I could."

Turning around, his words slurred just a touch from his obviously drained state. He eyed Blake up and raised a fist to his mouth to cover his yawn. His right eye shut involuntarily as he did so, and he reached up to scratch his face when he realized he hadn't shaved in days. For obvious reasons. Surely, he must have looked like a raggedy hobo right now. He felt along the jaw line and could sense the stubs piercing the skin as they sprouted like weeds. He had been taught to him by his father that facial hair was "unprofessional" and frowned upon, so the fact that he was personally growing the stuff irked and irritated him to no end.

"Ha, five 'o clock shadow, eh?" Blake laughed, his typical sarcastic smile back.

"It looks good on 'ya. You almost look like a man, now."

Jayden's eyes narrowed a little in response to that, but swayed a little in his stance. Unable to correlate a reply to that- he simply reminded himself of the comment Blake had made last night about his ass. It made him burn a little red internally as he remembered the incident in grave detail. He had been a little piss-drunk, sure, but there was a reason alcohol was used worldwide as the universal truth serum- it clouded inhibitions and lowered a person's ability to reason. It could turn someone like Blake from a hard-ass straight man to a flimsy, bicurious stumbling jackass with relative ease. Now he was complimenting his stubble. Also, he was sober this time. This made a light chill run up the bottom of the man's back all the way to the bottom of his neck.

'_Just being a smartass.' _Norman persisted, refusing to have his innocence shattered. '_He's full of shit, anyway. What's new about that?'_

"If I could, I'd cut it all the fuck 'off." Norman fired back, his Bostonian accent growing even thicker in his tired state.

"'Can't shave. Can't eat. Fucking can't bathe…Gonna start smelling soon."

Carter looked the kid up and down again, noticing he was just about ready to collapse at just about any minute. Occasionally, he would stumble back and forth, catching himself right before he could fully fall either way.

"Tired?" He asked, his tone ending on the upside.

Norman spun about as he squinted at Carter in an obvious response.

"A little…I tried to get some sleep. Or something resembling sleep, anyway. My stomach kept cramping up. Couldn't get much rest."

A "hmm" noise resounded in the tyrant's chest at that, the slight glow from the ARI illuminating the dark circles under his eyes as he looked up to view a pod of dolphins streaking by overhead. A slight smile crossed his lips as he felt suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer pleasantness of the scene. He never really considered himself a tree hugger or some environmental nut- but he always preferred being outside as opposed to in. It felt so strange being underneath the ocean while being able to breathe just fine. He took a deep breath just to demonstrate the fact- still a bit puzzled by the realism while still awestruck at the peaceful atmosphere itself.

"So- you get hungry? That's fucked up. How the hell you gonna eat?"

If Norman hadn't known better, he'd swear that was a comment of concern. Problem is, he did know better. Arching his brows a bit, he took a seat on the ocean floor, feeling the squishy sand on his ass and relishing that at least it wouldn't cling to his suit like the real stuff. Pulling his knees up, he sat Indian-style as he crossed his legs in front of him, putting himself backward to rest on his hands, glancing at the other man with half-lidded, heavy eyes.

"I don't have a fuck'in _clue. _I tried to go inside the house and find some food in the virtual world…It was either expired of unfulfilling."

Wincing at the memory, he told himself that two things had happened. Carter's quick evolution had meant he could create the food inside the kitchen, but it was too real. So real that it realized that the food would be well past its due date having not been in the place for a good five years. It only poked inside Norman's brain to find that there was simply no way that food was edible. It would only work with what it was given, and not be able to fill in the blanks of food being re-purchased and re-stocked. The other thing was that he hadn't progressed far enough in the brain transfiguration, and simply wasn't able to create food satisfying enough yet.

Either way, Norman reminded himself he was fucked. He looked up at the captor he had come to rely on, a look of pleading on his face. Despair. He didn't want to wear that expression, yet he couldn't stop it, either.

"So…What? Can you die…? I mean, again?"

Norman shook his head and sighed, his eyes looking empty as he gazed out towards a small stingray as it floated across the ocean floor. His face lit up like a child at the aquarium, reaching his hand out to touch it, skimming his hand along the top of its sandpapery skin as it picked up its pace, scooting out of the way of his touch and vanishing into the sea with a cloud of dust.

"I don't think so. But I don't know anything for sure right now. I know that I can feel the effects- I'm tired but I can't sleep. I have no energy. I feel like I'm gonna pass out at any minute…"

Carter surprised himself as he honestly had the desire to get down at the same floor as the man in white & grey. Not so much to meet gazes, but to be on the same level. To comfort, maybe reassure him. Except he knew these emotions were not becoming of him- and even if he wanted to entertain the notion, he knew it would result in becoming rather awkward.

'_Maybe now's not the time…' _

He could have just been blunt, yet as he observed the beaten and broken man on the floor, his chest tightened up in a surprising sensation of fear. Would it be easier now, if anything? Would he be easier to manipulate now that his hope and pride seemed to have fizzled away into a shadow of their former self?

"Can you eat real food?" He found himself asking; telling himself it would be the easiest way to get him active and strong, fast. Could get him on his feet…Just to get him on his knees moments later.

Looking surprised at this question, the kid cocked his head and seemed to be fascinated with a small fish as it hovered around his hands. He smiled again, watching the little black and white-striped fish think of his finger as a food item, coming in to peck at it. Laughing a little, he extended said finger and watched, as the tiny fish did nothing but tickle the finger with his bites, perfectly harmless despite the vicious action.

"Fuck, Norm. Are you listening to me?" Blake found himself taking a step forward; surprising the fish and making it shoot away as fast as it could.

Jayden frowned as he looked up towards the lieutenant, a scowl on his face as his eyes narrowed.

"Blake! I liked him-"

"I don't give a fuck! This isn't kindergarten, answer the question!"

Furrowing his brow, Norman shifted himself on the sea floor. Still squinting, he looked towards Blake and felt a pain in his stomach again, wincing and twisting his face in response.

"I don't _know_, Blake! Sorry, I've never been _dead_ before. I'm still trying to figure this shit out."

Finishing in a huff, Carter growled in his throat and walked a bit in the opposite direction. He was acting like a pissy little bitch, like a fucking woman on her period. And, just like a woman menstruating, he figured he wouldn't be in the mood for any type of sex.

Deciding to try again, he walked back towards the camped-out little homo and watched as he was now drawing letters in the sand with his finger. Clearly, he had reverted to some sort of child-like state. The hunger making him feel higher then a fucking kite and Jayden grinned like a fool as he draw out "FML" into the ocean floor, sand floating up as he made the indentations.

Blake had to chuckle at that, a smirk forming on his lips.

"Shouldn't that be "FMAL?"

"…What's that?"

"Fuck my after-life." Blake ended in a laugh, satisfied it got the same reaction from the kid as well.

"I'm surprised you're on the up-and-up on that sort of stuff, old man." Norman shot back, a rather coy look to his face as he eyed up the black-clothed Blake.

"What, like with texting?" The older man chuckled.

"Don't let my age fool you kid- the last thing I am is old-fashioned."

This surprised the Indian-sitting agent on the ocean floor. Making an "hmm" noise in his throat and licking his lips as he gave a cough. He had to admit, he didn't think of Carter as someone who kept up-to-date on anything. He seemed enraged at the concept of his profiling methods when he arrived in Philadelphia, making him feel like a thorn in the side of the precinct rather then a helping hand. Part of this, he reasoned, had been his age. Had Norman been Carter's age, he was positive he would have been greeted with more support. A twenty-nine year old "kid" coming up to tell you how to do your job? Norman didn't realize until now just how much of an asshole he had indeed come off as.

Peering at Carter, he analyzed the man up and down. How old was he, he wondered? The first thing he thought that crossed his mind when he met Blake that he had to be at least in his early forties. He looked to have been through some sort of hell- eyes set deep and expression almost permanently turned to "tired", his sun-damaged black hair pecked with gray strands both from age and stress, no doubt.

"Yeah well-"

Norman had been lazily eyeing the officer, gaze traveling over his body. Then he noticed something that was so awkward he could no longer speak. He had an erection. It was unmistakable, completely 'out there' no doubt without the cop's knowledge. The agent's eyes widened just a touch as he stared at it, not so much in arousal as much as morbid fascination. Well, it wasn't small. Not like he had assumed so- joking to himself internally. Nope, not at all.

The blue jeans seemed to hold back the bulge a smidgen, yet it was obvious to Norman that there wasn't much left to the imagination. Once realizing what he'd been doing, Norman unintentionally looked up and locked eyes with the lieutenant out of shock, then looked away as a blush crept across his face.

"What?" Carter had questioned, wondering what was so fascinating it warranted staring at his crotch for a good minute.

For a second, he had simply assumed he had left his fly open. Therefore, he looked down for a second to make sure_- holy shit… _he was hard. So hard. Steel-beam hard.

"Whoops." Carter tried, doing his best to make himself seem uncaring.

"Well, isn't that something. Apparently it likes it when you act like a pissy little bitch, Norman."

Now he wasn't sure whether to be pissed at Blake for that comment, or laugh. He knew it couldn't have been him that was doing this to his body. He had made it obvious he had no feelings for the man in that particular area. Yet Jayden couldn't help but entertain the idea with his comment.

"Oh really? So you're saying I make you hard?" Jayden countered on the up swing.

"Because if you are…" A small laugh escaped his throat.

Blake laughed nervously, though he tried everything in his power to make it seem more like a laugh of pure sarcasm.

"Oh _sure_. It's used to getting excited over bitching and moaning…That's all I hear from a fucking _woman_ and that's all I hear out of _you. _It doesn't know the difference."

His comment was meant to offend; a subtle way of throwing his bitchy attitude in his face- yet it was met with another snigger from the child-like agent.

"It doesn't know the difference? That's the first sign you know…" Jayden smirked, eyeing the lieutenant as his eyes shot to and from his face to his crotch.

"First sign of _what?"_ Blake sneered, irritation edging back into his voice.

"Being gay." He smirked. "You know, now that I look back it all comes together rather nicely. I've seen the way you look at me…"

There was a second that passed between Norman's small smile and smirk, and the action that occurred shortly afterwards. Blake had licked his teeth and lurched forward rather like a dog does at the end of its chain, only to realize the chain had indeed snapped. So now, the pit bull ran loose- and Blake found himself grabbing Norman and hoisting him up, grabbing his white shirt and pulling it completely free from his slacks.

"…The fuck you just say to me, asshole?" The kid winced as his breath hit his face, turning away as his own gentle face morphed into a scowl.

"I didn't mean-"

"Did you just call me queer? Because I swear to God, _Norman-_! I'm not gonna take that shit from a _fucking_ buearacrat, let alone a piss-ant like you!"

Watching as Blake's teeth flashed as he talked; his face hardening and eyes (seen through the slight translucence of the glasses) turning into dark pits of pure, awesome horror. They looked bottomless, a fury raging in them like a tempest raged through the ocean. His breath came out in short, rapid bursts as his chest heaved, and it wasn't until then that he had noticed Blake's earlier mentioned erection twitch against his thigh. It sent shivers up his body, resting below his shoulders and making his stomach do little flips. He shot the brute holding him a glance, a glance of uncertainty as he watched that storm rage in Blake's eyes.

Those eyes, however, seemed to soften about meeting his again. It wasn't until Blake closed his lips, hiding those large canines of his to quiet down the predatory motion he was attempting to get across. He would rip the kid's throat out- he'd done it before. The urge was squashed, however, as he realized his erection was brushing the younger man's leg, and noticicing Jayden looked like he just won the fucking golden ticket to the chocolate factory.

There was an awkward silence as Blake placed the kid down with a shove, grunting in his chest as he reached up and fixed his shirt. Smoothing out the wrinkles, he looked back at the hot shot FBI agent with a look of shame mixed with irritation, eyebrows raised and frown firmly set. Yet it disappeared into a brooding, hateful look. It was obvious to Jayden that Blake was embarrassed, but couldn't deny the evidence presented that it indeed had something to do with him. His stomach flipped once more- and he struggled to comprehend what that meant.

'_Fuuuuuck. He must get a hard-on when he gets in control of somebody. No wonder why he's always losing his shit in front of everybody- he gets off on it.'_

Actually, it wasn't unusual for that to occur. Hell, when he was in college he'd have a hard on like mad before any sort of presentation. He'd known guys in school who got them during sports, hidden only by their athletic wear. The more he considered this, the more Jayden found himself less embarrassed and more sympathetic despite the lietanant's outburst.

"It's alright, Blake, it happens…" He murmured, hoping to soothe the savagery that brewed in the monster that accompanied him in his plight.

"I didn't mean anything by it, okay? I'm…I'm sorry…"

It slipped out of Norman's mouth before he had time to think about it- and it was indeed a very unusual thing for him to say. Yet unlike Blake, who never really apologized or admitted to being wrong- he at least knew when to throw water on a fire, not gas. He couldn't afford to lose the man, now. As much as he hated to say, and it killed and squashed his pride to think it, he'd do pretty much anything he wanted if he had to. It was that, or permanent death. Absolute and final.

Despite already dying once, and finding it peaceful…Another death terrified and clutched at him with just as much terror as in his waking, flesh life. His existance being silenced was especially terrifying now that he didn't see any afterlife but the one present.

"Hmmm, well…" Blake let out a sigh, and if the agent didn't know any better, he'd swear that he once again sounded concerned.

"I don't really even _give_ a shit, so that works for me."

Jayden supposed that was how Blake accepted an apology. So, he took it and nodded his head. Blake fidgeted and turned away, trying to hide as he rubbed his crotch in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure that formed there, yet that plan seemed fruitless, as the agent found himself still looking towards the other male with earnest.

'_Why am I watching this? He's at least ten years older then me, an aggressive, dominant man with psychopathic tendancies…Not to mention having the attraction of a fucking snake. A poisonous goddamn snake. Why the fuck you want to watch him practically jack off?'_

The psychologist in him couldn't help but analyze Blake, yet couldn't bring to analyze himself. Norman's sudden, distrubing facination didn't go unnoticed, however. Like said snake, he craned his neck in Norman's direction as they locked eyes. His breath caught in his throat at seeing the alpha male's ocean-blue eyes focusing on him behind the glasses with a glare that could only be described as desire. Not how a man has for a woman on their wedding day- or even two lovers out for their first date. Not even the drunken stare of two strangers in a bar as the night ticked down to last call and the bodies of both had long since given in to each other. No, it was like the stare one had when they found something they wanted- like a new, fast car. A pair of expensive shoes by the best designer. A rare piece of art revealed for sale to a high-class collector.

Jayden was just a high-price item to the other man. And just like that, he had bought him.

"I…" The agent stammered, blushing and looking away, acting rather like a child caught by his parents watching porn.

"What'r you thinking, kid?"

"I wasn't thinki'n of anyth'n." His accent slurred.

"Bullshit." Carter breathed, excitement building audibly in his voice.

"You're hungry…and I'm hard. You're a smart guy, eh?"

Jayden blushed deeper, a look of revulsion flashing across his face as he avoided eye contact.

"We still have a payment to work out here…"

"I'm not touching you-"

"Come… _here_."

The communication didn't need words, more spoken with thoughts and gazes more then simply sounds. It was an order, and instantly Jayden understood what was going to happen. There was a brief hesitation, but in the end he stood up surprisingly fast, legs shaking as they locked into an upright stance, and his gaze was downcast as he looked towards the floor. He stopped in front of Blake by a mere few feet, casting glimpses up towards the lieutenant and meeting his gaze, only to be dominated by his mere presence, averting his blue orbs from his as he glanced back down at the floor.

One could relate the devil's dance between the two as a sparing between alpha and omega wolves- fighting for the top position. Breeding rights to a female, territory, food. Or, perhaps more fitting, they might relate it to a sort of courtship between two animals in heat- where one has to eventually submit to the other far more controlling partner. With a simple glance, Blake had established this. All their human civility meant only so much until it got down to pure and simple animal instinct.

"…On your knees."

Shakily, without much thought, Norman complied. He put out his hands and swallowed as he lowered himself down.

'_What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…'_

Norman didn't think much as he did the actions without any real hesitation. He supposed and reasoned it had something to do with suddenly feeling a purpose to his endless waltz in a virtual dream world. Or maybe it was his simple nature and desire to please- something that got him up the ladder in life rather quickly. Most likely, he reasoned, it was a combination of those two- and the sudden feeling of being controlled by someone whom he knew full well had the ability to do so. He caught him off-guard, in the right moment.

Tensing, he watched in a mixture of terror and excitement- nervousness, he supposed it could be called- as Blake took a few steps forward, meeting the man at crotch-height. A full-body shiver rocked through his body from his shoulders down to his legs, and it must have been visible, because he could sense the man in front of him shiver in apprehension as well. Jayden's eyes moved over the crotch of Blake's pants, noticing that already he was bigger then he could have guessed. His mouth went dry as he swallowed from fear.

Memories returned as he remembered meeting the lieutenant in the wasteland. His uncaring, casual yet fearless attitude putting him off to begin with. Then his vulgar mouth added insult to injury…Though Jayden reminded himself he wasn't much better. Though even Jayden didn't have quite the creativity with cursing as the man in black did. His behavior at the meeting later that day sealed the deal for the rest of the experience the two would have until they day Jayden himself died. Brewing, tense hatred that could only be described as disgust for one another's company.

Blake went to undo the button at the top of his pants- sending Jayden into a sudden fit of anxiety. His eyes went wide and for a moment, he tried to stand back up, but a strong hand- Blake's hand- shot out to push him back down by the top of his soft head. They locked eyes again, and as simple as that, control was re-established. There was an obvious desire that flooded Blake's system at seeing the man below him, put into such a position. Jayden sighed in a shaky way, his breath wavering as he glanced back towards the unbuttoned pants.

"…Pull it out."

The words cut into Jayden like a swallowed sword, and he gasped and involuntarily shuddered. Muscles from head to toe contracting and vibrating thusly. Yet those hands of his- soft, pliable hands- moved with little hesitation as he took the worn zipper into his fingers, pulling it down with an audible "zip" as it rested at the bottom. All he saw at this point was a pair of white briefs, and he thanked everything sacred that he couldn't see "it" yet. He felt the man tense slightly, most likely from never having another man touch him before. It was something he recognized easily, his favorite prey being straight men.

Jayden found himself running his fingers along the bulge in those briefs, watching as Blake let out a breath he apparently had been holding for a while. A hand of pure and calculated authority landed on his right shoulder, and he glanced towards it with apprehension as it squeezed its grip just a little. Turning back towards the matter at hand, the agent soldiered himself forward and tugged at the Jockey brand brief's elastic band, a blush easily accompanied his face in the action as it took over his nose and cheeks, face pulsing from the sudden blood rush.

Thick, course pubic hair lined the top of the briefs. He swallowed in response as his fingers slid into them. It felt like he was combing through a bush, not human hair of any kind. This was all so new to him in every way- from the sheer coarseness of the older man's hair, to the little grey strands here and there. (Norman did suppose the carpet matched the drapes) To the sheer size he was going to be taking on.

Norman's fingers brushed down and felt the very erect, very painfully contained length in the man's undergarements. At his touch, Carter winced, and actually took a step back, yet Norman surprised himself as he found his knees crawling along with him, actually rather irritated at having been disturbed. This surprised the young agent, if anything he should be wishing for the experience to end at anytime possible. Already he was far too close to the lieutenant. Already, he should be trying to get away.

The lieutenant's breath hitched in his throat as his emotions spun about. What was "right" and "wrong" according to what had been hammered into his head by society from birth seemed to dissipate as the agent began to feel his cock in his pants. Fingers slowly starting to clasp about his restrained organ. A highly sensitive tool that originally evolved as an instrument to impregnate a female. Yet times changed, and sex's ability to relax and pleasure the body was exploited to the wide depths of human imagination.

Just like in his fantasy, he felt the soft, silky and petal-soft hands of the arrogant, prickish agent on his dick. It made shivers run up and down his sides, and he could feel his cock twitch and stiffen even harder in his touch. Then he began to fish him out, and he swear he almost came right then and there. Instead, he moaned. It came out higher then expected, but not overtly so. Long, drawn out and sounding rather similar to the sound one makes when they feel their backs, legs or feet messaged. That gentle, gracious relief.

As Jayden began his duty, embarrassment once again clutched at him as he reminded himself he was touching Carter Blake's dick. Another blush heated up his face, and as he pulled the stiff organ out, it only increased as he studied the rather thick penis. It had to be the bulkiest one Norman ever held- and it made him swallow back the glob of all-consuming sickness that was rising in his stomach. Certaintly the biggest he'd ever personally had- it was no monster, not quite worthy of being called "huge" or unbelievable- yet to Jayden it was a rather impressive sight. It was thicker then normal, he'd wager, the head itself huge in comparison to the rest of it. Yet it wasn't short, either. It seemed appropriate for his body type. More then he expected- and he realized it was only going to make things more difficult for himself.

'_Christ. His balls are fucking big, too. No wonder why he always does what he wants. He's full of fucking testosterone, like a bull or 'someth'n. If someone neutered him…like a good, old dog, he'd be complacent. Like a heifer off to slaughter.'_

Blake couldn't help but look down as Jayden took him in- and a smile tugged at his lips as his pride spiked. _'Guess he likes what he sees…' _His ego boasted. For a moment, this made Blake so happy a smile spread across his lips, and he laid his hand back as he felt Jayden prizing his cock like he just discovered the Ark of the Covenant.

After a moment of this- a good minute- Jayden finally licked his lips, closed his eyes, and leaned forward. He kissed the insides of the exposed bit of his thighs, hands steady on the older male's hips as he braced himself. Carter whimpered just a touch in his throat, and let out another breath. The kisses were so very soft, even ticklish. This time, he didn't feel any restraint as his left hand steadied himself on the man's right shoulder, thumb and fingers resting there against his neck, gently gripping in a way to encourage rather then force.

Parting his lips only slightly, he felt himself begin to pant and shudder against his will as the agent continued. His lips trailing up and down his strong legs, his flesh pulling away slightly at the warmth that was his breath, hot and surprisingly humid. Like the air outside- like what the devil's breath would be. It stuck and clung to his flesh as goose bumps began to form, and Norman's fingers trailed up and down them at this thought, looking down into the agent's eyes as he immediately looked away in response.

Norman wasn't expecting the officer to be this easily moved. It was his first time with a man- he could tell. This was how they all acted. Blake, however, was even worse. He was a man of intense self-worth whom carried himself on a cloud of dominion over all other living things. How people saw him mattered everything to him in life- and now he was being pleasured by another man. Norman suddenly felt an intense desire to do everything he could to make this the best fucking blowjob he ever gave. It was going to make him scream, it would make him beg. It would bring the lieutenant down a notch, he theorized.

Sad to say, Carter had the exact same thought process.

Looking down, he swallowed another lump in his throat as he attempted to rid himself of the all-over body blush that was working its way through his system. The same could be said for the younger man on his knees- whose skin was starting to break out in intense heat- whose soft, burning hands made his back shiver and cock twitch. The blush increased on the kid, forming especially about the top of his nose and cheeks. It only served to arouse the older male more, seeing him on his knees with his face between his legs, now in that pubic bush that partially blocked his view.

Blake found himself almost wanting to pull away as Jayden's breath then trailed over his dick. Yet the result of it- his erection curling up and becoming even stiffer- made him shake and breathe out in a sudden gasp. He bit back the moan as he clenched his teeth, and finally moved his right hand to cover the man's delicate, brown head. The locks felt like downy pillows, like an animal's soft, sensual fur. It didn't feel course and damaged like his own- but rather like the pretty boy he took him to be. It felt so good between his rough fingers, though he was too nervous to bring his head closer using the extra leverage. Instead, he simply clasped a little, relishing the feel as the agent moved in, finally kissing beneath his shaft.

"_Ooooh…_Oooh, fuck. Kid…"

Carter finished that pleasurable explitive with a laugh of surprise. His toes curled inside his shoes, and if he hadn't been an older man with experience beneath his belt, he just may have came right then and there. Yet it wasn't over, and he felt Jayden kiss with some hesitation up his length, making them sloppier as his tongue lashed out and began to lick as it neared his head. Carter rose up onto his toes for a second, once again skirting away nervously only to have the agent follow him hungrily like a wolf to a falling sheep. The look in his eyes rather ravenous.

'_Stop fucking moving…' _Jayden found himself wanting to say, but instead simply thought it. As he reached the man again, his tongue snaked out between his pink, pouty lips, and lapped up along the side of his dick. His teeth playfully scrapping along the way, white, perfectly chiseled incisors play biting the member with the utmost good intentions. Hands on his hips, he made sure the older man wouldn't skirt away this time, as he could feel the excitement rising in his loins. Could hear the man's attempts to bite back the moans, the pants, the pleads to give him just a moment, just a second to stop the intense sensations for just long enough to recollect himself.

Not even pausing, Jayden moved to the other side and did the same there, sloppier, making sure that his hot breath moved fluidly over the officer's now throbbing organ. His sensitive, soft face could feel his heart beat through his cock. It was going by fast and hard, and Jayden could tell that the man had a powerful, strong heart. It worked hard to power such a strong, demanding body with such a hot temper driving it. Jayden moaned wantonly at the thought as he nuzzled the erect penis- brushing the vieny, warm organ along his skin.

He felt Blake move his hard, calloused hands through his hair. Both were there now, mowing through them back and forth like a kitten kneading its mother for more milk. And just like a suckling kitten, he purred low in his throat, resounding in his tight chest at the approval. In response to this sudden display of acknowledgement, the agent licked the bottom of his shaft, moving to the head where he breathed hot and heavy onto the man's rather large head at the end of the thick penis. Flicking it with his tongue, he watched Blake tense and shift again, the hands gripping his hair a little tighter in anticipation as he finally felt himself being engulfed into the other man's mouth.

'_Oh my God…' _

Blake got a taste of what pure ecstasy had to feel like- if there was a heaven; he had hoped it would be this good. The kid seemed to have a hard time taking and stretching his mouth around the thick, muscular dick- and this drove the other man wild. An intense feeling of pride flooding his chest and making him gasp and grin as the action occurred.

Jayden wished he could form cognitive thoughts in his mind as he wrapped his warm mouth around the even hotter organ. His right hand made its way to the shaft's base, stroking it lightly as he took in the end with his mouth. It would take forever to deep-throat Carter, he reasoned. He was too thick, more so then any other man he'd ever been with. Blake was quite unique in this regard, and found himself fascinated as his tongue moved about about his head and area between the glans and shaft. He tasted different, too. Jayden was sure to catalogue and analyze the flavor. It wasn't so bad, actually. It was unique- having a slightly salty residue from his diet, coupled with the bitter semen taste that he knew had to be from a recent prior ejaculation.

'_Wonder if he was thinking of me…'_Jayden asked himself, then reached in with his left hand to take hold of the testes.

They had turned blue from the sheer amount of blood pooling in the viens. He rolled them about in his hand between his thumb and fingers, feeling their engorged, pulsing heat that surged with each heartbeat. He felt rather proud this was all intended for him. Then he tasted something wet and salty- a slight sweetness mixed in. It was the saltiest pre-cum he had ever tasted, which told him Blake ate a little too many sodium-laced foods. Yet it was rather tasty in that regard, and he swallowed the clear, slippery substance easily, leaving some to roll about his mouth to wet the cock in his maw.

Carter licked his lips as he lifted his head to gather a look at his living room. He was surprised the scenery had changed without him noticing- even more so that he was in fact in a real location and not back in the ocean floor. Yet Jayden was still there, he knew because of the sensations that were still being given to his body by the kneeling figure. Looking back down confirmed this, and as he moaned deeply at he feeling- Norman took more into his mouth. His stomach flipped and bottomed out in his belly, warmth spreading and growing in the pit of his abdominal area told him it was going to be no time before he would have had enough.

His left hand found its way to the kid's shoulder, gripping it tight as he began to thrust into the young man's slippery, humid heat. Nearly all of his cock was encompassed inside his tight mouth- feeling even better then being inside a woman. His head rolled back as he eagerly bucked his muscular, tight pelvis into what had to be the best orifice he'd ever been inside. Looking down, he saw that his cock had stretched the younger man's mouth, cheeks puffed out and lips expanded. At this, his left hand began to roughly pull his hair up and down his dick. This caused Jayden begin to bob his head accordingly.

Jayden had to resist the reflex to gag as Carter was hitting and probing down his throat. He found it hard to breathe, but ignored these the best he could as he heard the other man moan and grunt. To Jayden, hearing the man make any pleasurable noise was oddly arousing- the fact he had that sort of an effect on such a cold, cruel human being. Like he had been cast in a die, not birthed by a woman. He felt the calloused, strong hands caress his boyish hair fondly. His cheeks blushed red again as Jayden reached up and smoothed along the stretch of soft, sensitive skin that separated his testicles from his anus- running the tips of his fingernails in a zigzag pattern, then making circles. It made Carter jerk and shiver, his voice escalating from pants into a cavalcade of whining moans, his body rocking in it's stance as he grabbed onto Jayden even harsher, fingers digging into his hair and shoulder.

"Christ, Jayden…" He panted out, voice high and full of utter delight.

With every fluid thrust-, which were long and slow at first, yet steadily increasing with each stroke, Jayden bobbed accordingly. Fingers tensing through his locks as his body struggled to intake the sensations and process them. He felt that hand stroking that magical area of skin, and then felt that hand go deeper as he went behind his legs. This caused Blake to tense up, and nearly coughed from shock as he felt the kid's finger in a forbidden zone- moving about his anus but not going in. Blake's reaction was strong and defiant, pressing his legs together despite the pleasurable feeling. Jayden got the hint and moved back to where he was, eyebrows furrowing above his closed eyes. He opened them to give the man above him a glance, watching his face for reactions. He noticed his parted, smooth lips as he panted, mewled and whimpered for more.

Upping the pace, Jayden snaked his tongue around the organ, bringing his mouth back to scrape his teeth around the soft and sensitive flesh. Using the tip of said tongue, he poked at it from below and took it further into his mouth and down his hot throat. He knew Blake was approaching his climax, and could feel himself growing hard against his pants in response.

Blake doubled over and leaned over Jayden so that his chest rested just above his head.- something he never experienced before, so he moved a little slow as he followed the cock backwards and planted it inside of his wet heat. Massaging the base of his cock with his now extended tongue-, he felt Blake increase his pace and reach a point where he no longer had rythmatic strokes. He pushed away all the thoughts of the hate he held for the man as he did everything he could to help him cum as hard as he could.

"Don't stop…Don't stop…Don't stop…" Blake yelled between pants as he could feel the mountain of pleasure escalating and moving towards the peak.

Grabbing his hair so hard it hurt, he pulled it forward as the fingers about his shoulder pinched so hard he could have very well broken the skin. No doubt, bruises would form soon. His hips slammed a whole thirty degrees forward as a horrible, frightening rumble formed in the very depths of his chest and throat as he unleashed a strangely saurian growl and roar that sounded like a creature from the very depths of hell.

"Uhh…Uhhh…Fuck!…Fuck…"

Jayden never experienced such an intense orgasm from another male in all his life. It was terrifying- this was a man. Not some pretty boy in a bar, not some drunken student that had his guard down. A true, hardened man, and he was taken aback when Blake slammed the back of his throat so hard he could have sworn his tonsils were hit, the nerves back there coursing with pain. His head slammed back as he felt the steaming, hot, foaming cum fill his mouth rather like if a can of Redi-whip was shoved into his throat and punchered with a shot gun. It exploded with such force it hurt his whole mouth. Blake still clutched onto the man below him as he panted heavily, unwilling and even incapable of moving.

The younger man felt the aftershocks rush through the other man's body. Each little quake was felt through the skin-to-skin contact as Blake's intense, hard muscles spasmed and contracted around him. Finally, the sensation quieted back as the older man rubbed his shoulder rather affectionately, rather like an owner congratulating its dog after a job well done.

There were no words spoken as Jayden listened to Carter pant, his chest rising and falling against his head and back. Slowly, he grew tired of breathing out his nose and having an older man's cock in his mouth, so he began to pull back. Carter noticed and put weight back on his legs, standing up but not fully, as he allowed the kid to separate their two temporarily conjoined bodies. For a few surprisingly long minutes, they were one person, copulating orally in a game of domination and submission.

Then he felt Jayden on him again, and his limp organ jerked to attention once more as he was once again inside his mouth. _'Goddamn, again already?' _Thought Blake as he felt himself being licked up and down, but was disappointed to find that Jayden was simply cleaning him off. He finished and sat back, legs splayed a little as his erection poked against his pants. The kid had swallowed his cum, the warm, now liquefied substance forced down his throat with a few "gulps" as he watched the bulge in his throat disappear down his neck a good two and a half times. A white streak and droplet poked its way out his lips, and his stained-white tongue curled out between those two fleshy pink masses to lick it away and join its kin in his hungry stomach.

_'__Now **that's** delicious…'_

Blake snapped out of his thoughts as he put his wet, sopping organ back into his briefs then zipped up his pants. Words sat there on the tip of his tongue as he eyed the kid on the floor, whose eyes once again looked lively and bright in his face. Yet it was obvious to the older man that he was ashamed, avoiding eye contact as he looked away from the initial glance. He thought of taunts, of ways to destroy the agent's pride and turn him into a mass of quivering cries and despair.

Yet instead, he found himself saying nothing. A sense of accomplishment flooding his system as his body quivered and jerked at the thought of what had just happened.

' _I got Norman Fucking Jayden to give me a blowjob, and he swallowed every last drop.'_

Reaching up, he thought it best to leave as he removed the ARI rather casually. When he did, he found the atmosphere hadn't changed, but Jayden had disappeared. He looked down, expecting there to be one hell of a mess about the carpet on the room.

Except, there wasn't. Not one bit of ejaculate, no white stain streaking the wall or clear stain on the gray carpet. He looked about from left to right, down, even under the coffee table just in case his semen somehow found the ability to teleport itself.

'_Where is- Oh wait…'_

A teasing, almost boyish smile overtook his face by force. The white contrasting to the beat-red he turned from the fellatio. He slipped on the glasses to find Jayden still panting in the same spot he left him, and looked to have barely registered Carter's re-entrance.

"Hey, Jayden! Still hungry…?"


	6. Professional Obligations

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, teasing. Blake/Jayden. No sex this time. (OMG, WHY!) Increasing Lovecraftian fantasy and sci-fi elements.**

Author's Note: **If you guys were beers, I'd drink every last one of you. ^^ I'm trying to incorporate a bit more of Jayden's accent into the dialogue, but not to the point where it's impossible to understand or he sounds like a hick. So I'm only putting enough in so it gets the point across. Let me know if it's too ridiculous. **

**P.S, whoever gets the Lovecraft reference in this story gets a virtual cookie.**

* * *

**_In my hour of need,_**  
**_Ha! You're not there..._**  
**_And though I reached out for you,_**  
**_wouldn't lend a hand!_**

**_Through the darkest hour..._**  
**_grace did not shine on me._**  
**_It feels so cold, very cold,_**  
**_no one cares for me._**

**_You'll never know how hard I tried,_**  
**_to find my space and satisfy you, too._**

**_Things will be better when I'm dead and gone,_**  
**_don't try to understand, knowing you I'm probably wrong._**

**_Did you ever think I get lonely?_**  
**_Did you ever think that I needed love?_**  
**_Did you ever think to stop thinking,_**  
**_you're the only one that I'm thinking of?_**

**_Won't you hold me again?_**  
**_You just laughed, ha, ha, bitch..._**  
**_My whole life is work built on the past._**  
**_But the time has come when all things shall pass,_**  
**_This good thing passed away._**

**_In my darkest hour..._**

- "In My Darkest Hour" Megadeth

* * *

"Wild Side" by Mötley Crüe blared on the radio, and Blake tolerated it well, (despite being a song about lawlessness and cop killing) as he remembered the song from his youth. He was just coming out of high school when it was released, he could recall hauling a girl or two around town speeding up and down the streets in his Firebird. It played almost continuously on the top hits station until everyone would grow sick of it. He would do it for hours until the girls had to go home, then of course he would take his time going back home himself. He never did want to go back if he could help it. His father would always bitch at him the minute he stepped in the door, there was always something apparently wrong and according to his old man, it was his fault.

His younger brother, which he swore could have easily been his twin, had it even worse. He would always come home from school via the bus because he couldn't afford his own car yet. By the time he got there, Lawrence had already heard everything for the third or fourth time repeated to his older brother, and he would eye him with pity. Larry's identical, yet somewhat brighter eyes always stuck in his mind as he watched him from the corner in the kitchen. The marks of various beatings streaking his sickly complexion.

Carter envied Randolph, his other brother. The older brown-haired man was able to get a decent job and move the hell out. Got a wife, and was spitting out babies- making Carter himself an uncle three times. He'd seen the kids occasionally, and they had a strange affinity for him. He tried to return the affection the best he could, but he wasn't the best with children for obvious reasons. Though unlike with adults- he actually did try to hold his temper. Faking enthusiasm when need be.

For some reason, woman were never destined to survive in his family. He had been informed through a slip of the tongue when his father was drunk- that he had a twin sister. Yet she had died not long after they were born. This crawled and crept at Carter- knowing that technically a part of him had died along with her. He remembered reading in the recently updated Origami Killer report that Scott had a twin brother that had died all those years ago- and found himself horribly stabbed in the stomach with the sensation of recognition.

Then there the sister he did know. She had died only ten years ago. His insides clutched as images of a wasting, pale body constrained to a hospital bed flooded his mind. Cancer had taken her away from him- even if they were never terribly close. They had just started getting along famously when she was diagnosed with some type of abdominal cancer Carter didn't care to remember the name of. Hearing the news was bad enough, yet she was able to get it under control and eventually the horrible mutation was pushed into remission. Only a few months went by- when he got the call that made his stomach feel like it just slipped down a bottomless pit- His young sister had just been getting her life back together- dating again and looking for a high-scale apartment now that she had managed to land the perfect job. She was an artist and always wanted to make it her life. That was, until some sick fuck (that was later revealed to be heavily medicated with anti-psychotics) decided to throw her down a flight of concrete steps and rape her.

When he arrived at the hospital, it was revealed the cancer had also come back with a vengeance. Those asshole, well-paid doctors didn't get it all. It happened so fast that he just barely made it to watch her diseased body slip further and further into despair. Days went by as he sat in the hospital's palliative care wing, body haunched over as his eyes gazed sleepily forward. He was grateful for crime being low, he would have to be dead himself to ignore his occupation completely. The first thing he did when was let off for the night was to visit his ailing sister- being grateful she was still awake to see him. Still alive, especially. Then the day came, and she eventually looked over, said her goodbyes and lay down flat as she ceased to move. He'd never forget the way the machines all seemed to cease or squeal all at once at her passing.

Words couldn't particularly describe the explosion of madness that overwhelmed the already unstable lieutenant. If it wasn't for the fact that the piece of pure human shit didn't already turn himself into a psych ward, he'd kill the motherfucker in such creative ways- they'd never guess it was a human that did it. Safely contained within the walls of an asylum from Blake, the perpetrator remained in a safe haven to this day, a better fate then death by his sordid hands. All he could remember was the rage, the disgust, the sheer agony...Carter had died internally a long time before that, a part of him only remained. The rest faded that day, a part that made him give up on the shit-stain that was humanity.

He sought to take revenge on his sister's incompetent doctors. Going to their homes, sitting outside in his car as he watched them leave, following them to and fro town as they nervously glanced in the rearview window. Threatening the doctor's family seemed to be the last straw, and a restraining order had to be issued for Philadelphia's top police lieutenant. Had he not been in good standing with the judge, it would have been front-page news. How easy it would have been for his badge to be taken away. It was settled out of court, as long as he stayed a good five-hundred feet from the _fucks_, nothing more would be said about it…Nothing more ever was said about it. Shit, wasn't he lucky? He should thank them really. Sometimes he lay awake at night thinking of ways to _thank _them.

He had to stop…and he did just that. He wouldn't have it ruin his good mood, which he in fact hadn't had in a long time. Standing at his grill again, he blinked hard as he tried to rid himself of his building migraine. That swarming, worm-like sensation crawling through his head again as he tried to ignore it. He had taken another set of pills to combat the effects, yet it was slow to begin its workings.

Carter figured the headaches tended to go away when he wore ARI, so again he reached for the glasses he had brought outside with him, and eyed them curiously as his other hand flipped a burger. With a flick of the wrist, he flipped the glasses' temple tips away from one another and brought them to his face, where the blue glow ominously lit up his dark circles.

Surprising himself, he found the exterior unchanged. No desert of mars, no autumn forest, no Martha's Vineyard house sitting idly by. Instead, he simply saw his own backyard, and he'd be lying if he didn't admit he was a little disappointed. Where could it have taken him next, he wondered? It appeared as though the limits the machine placed on itself were conducive to just about anywhere in the world…And then some, as Mars itself illustrated

Yet being just where he was, his own home out by the grill- was exactly where he needed to be for this to take place. He looked about until he saw Jayden standing by the back fence of his yard. There appeared to be a brief few seconds where the agent blinked, glanced around and seemed to study the environment in front of him. Then he turned, and got an eye-full of the back of Carter's house.

A small laugh escaped his throat as he witnessed the scene, Jayden squinting from being tired more then from the sun itself. Any real evidence of what just happened seemed to have been washed his face, and Blake tried to concoct a reason as to why this was. Had he found a way to clean himself off? Part of him was disappointed, seeing his cum-stains still on the boy's visage would have made him all the more sad and pitiful. Yet another part didn't exactly what to see that when he was cooking food.

Blake looked back down with the very ghost of a smile on his lips, flipping over one of the two burgers, then rolling the few ears of corn about on the grill as the smell rose into the air. The crackling, hissing and spitting of the fire licking the cooking food constant reminders of the danger from being horribly burnt.

"How do' you like yours, Jayden, eh? I heard you like you're meat uncooked…"

This particular tease made Jayden visibly wince and he narrowed his eyes as his face burned from embarrassment - Regardless, he found himself stumbling towards the other man. After their "business transaction", Blake actually had the nerve to come back and offer something rather unusual of him. Food. He informed Jayden that apparently, he had actually swallowed his bodily fluid in real-time, and that therefore; Norman himself would have to be somewhat real. This revelation shocked the agent enough- except the older man just kept going on about how apparently this also meant he could eat real food. So, he offered to cook for him, for a price of course.

A flimsy offer was made; Blake would make him something in order to keep him fed. He would also do Jayden's dirty work down in DC…In exchange for more of what he had just received from the young man. It made Jayden feel spineless and sick, and his mouth went dry as he remembered coughing in surprise and growing faint from the thought. Of course, this was what he implied when he did the blowjob to begin with…Yet he wasn't thinking clearly. Not like now. Not with shame, disgust and a healthy serving of self-loathing consuming his internal organs like a fire. Like _he_ himself was being roasted over a spit.

"…You heard wrong. I like mine well-done, actually."

Carter made an "hmmm" in his throat as he nodded in amusement.

"Good for you. 'Cause that's how I was gonna cook 'em, anyway."

Norman watched in pervasive curiosity as Blake applied barbecue sauce a little too messily- getting it all over his hand…Then licked his fingers starting at the thumb and ending at the middle finger, sucking slightly on that last one to remove the tasty substance. It made his lips part just a touch and eyes widen- yet he stopped himself and glanced away.

'_Fucking ARI. Making me desperate…'_

Jayden had replaced his suit jacket, not so much because he was cold, because in actuality he was feeling extremely hot and sweaty. Yet his intention had been to regain somewhat of a professional appearance. If that was even remotely possible at this point. Someone his age was expected to still have some fire left in their belly. A youthful vigor in his step as he stayed up all night, sprinting about the town in the search for a good time. Yet Norman never really had this in his life, rarely having the time for personal business as he constantly sought to further his career.

His weekends weren't filled with friends or family, alcohol or movies, concerts or barhopping…They were filled with paperwork. His computer went from a personal place where he could store photos or videos of family and high school memories- to a second workstation where he could fill out even more forms, do even more research into cases and keep up-to-date on the latest psychology developments. He was a sucker for news in general, almost obsessive in the sense that he watched CNN or MSNBC constantly, having it rolling in the background as his face glued to the computer screen. Norman swore he hadn't seen a movie in years. If it wasn't for sports and his talent with the piano, he would almost never get the chance to unwind. A nervous breakdown loomed constantly on the horizon.

Therefore, when he gave Carter what he so desperately appeared to have needed- his self-worth plunged below a level unknown to him. Unknown to his senses, psychosis or ability to reason. Hours ago, he had been on his knees as an older, incompetent lieutenant from Philadelphia, whom he couldn't stand, fucked his face. Held his hair roughly as he thrust into his willing mouth. How could he have let that happen? He should have _known _better! He was better then this- had graduated from college with the highest honors, excelled into the FBI where he was finally getting some good time in so he could rise up the ranks- oh yeah, then he fucking _died_. He was _fucking_ dead. He had to remind himself of that.

_'Maybe not for long…? You're obviously not entirely dead, Norman. Part of you escaped into ARI. Maybe someday you can come back? You can eat! Illusions can't eat, can't sleep, can't…Well, can't give a man a blowjob. There's gotta be a way…There's something about Carter, something you gotta find out. Something unique, besides being the biggest asshole you ever met-'_

"Don't just stand there with you're thumb up your ass, Norm." Carter called, looking up from the grill.

"I mean, I know you're into that kind of shit, but don't do it in my yard- come and sit down. Food's almost ready."

A slight heat took up his face at Blake's taunts, and a small skiver formed in the small of his back and spread to his feet. Moving his legs and straightening his tie and collar, he made his way towards Blake's little outside table and gazed at the newly placed cheap, white lawn chair. The older man practically sounded like a mother scorning her child as he came in from outside, late for dinner. It reminded him vaguely of his own mother, but he tried to stifle the feeling down in his gut. He didn't need that omniscient pain in his system right now.

Norman cleared his throat as he looked from one side to the other nervously, and then pulled out the chair as he took a shaky seat. Reaching under the arms of said chair, he pulled up and scooted towards the table as his legs rested underneath and elbows on the table. He reminded himself how rude that was- and pulled them off as he sat them on the chair's arms.

_'Look at him, all prim 'n proper. Even after he just got done sucking dick he can't forget his little manners. Like a fucking puppy licking its master's hand after get'n beat. It'd be cute if it wasn't so pathetic.'_

Never could Norman had guessed the man's harsh thoughts as he silently cooked, watching in hunger as his eyes followed the meat as it flipped over and over again, pushing the hamburger down so it could be flatter when placed on a bun. His tongue was out between his lips before he could stop it, and he wet pouty flesh, then the dry corners of his mouth before pulling it back in. Swallowing, he nervously looked Carter in the eyes.

"So you _are_ still hungry?" He finished that with a laugh, and as predicted, Norman looked down to the table with a growing sickness in his stomach.

When he licked his lips, he couldn't help but taste Blake again. It made his stomach suck up against his spine- a revolting sensation returning to his mouth as he realized traces of the man still lay there. Probably in crevices of his teeth he couldn't wash out yet. Couldn't help but remind himself how billions of little copies of the lieutenant swam about in his stomach as they awaited digestion, the very process assimilating the copies into his body like some crazy fucked up personal pregnancy.

_'You're thinking too much about it. Mom's a whore, dad's a whore, why are you so surprised you're the same way?'_

It's because Jayden always thought he'd be something better, always trying to meet his parent's insane expectations while barely juggling something resembling a social life. He told himself that maybe someday he'd brake free and could live a more mundane life. Could slow down to "smell the roses" so to speak.

No, never, it appeared. Never did happen…Though, now, he supposed, cruel irony gripped at his fate as he now sat at a man's table, being cooked dinner. He practically felt like a husband coming home to dinner being prepped by his spouse. He couldn't work while he was in ARI. Couldn't help _but _mull over life, converse, and slow down to enjoy his surroundings. Even if they were fake.

Jayden still clutched at his pride, trying to tell himself he wasn't a pessimistic man. Though he knew deep down part of that always dwelled. He was still a man, still could walk with his head high- even the greatest people have gone through rough patches in their lives, he told himself. He couldn't think of a single man who didn't have to stoop low in order to get things done-

_'Yeah, Norm. I'm so fuck'n sure. All the presidents had to suck dick to get where they are. Had to go down in order to get policies across- that makes a lot of goddamn sense. You're a fucking idiot.'_

In the end, what stung him the most was the overwhelming sensation of disgust. Like waking up the next morning to find the so called-looker in you're bed is in fact a razorback boar. Norman could have easily gotten over sleeping with an older man, or a man he didn't particularly find attractive or savory…He could even get over sleeping with someone he hated. Yet Carter Blake was something else entirely. Like a tyrannical leader sent from the past to terrorize the present, not even so much a dictator like Nero or even Hitler- they weren't logical like Blake's calculating madness. The man was his own breed of "wrong", of sinful, rotten, personal indulgence. A creature of ill repute from the highest of immoral deeds, sent from the fires of hell much like the Antichrist Nathanial had warned of. Something about the 'man' wasn't human, was off, just…not right.

Norman could go over his psychological theories all day, could hypothesize and analyze his childhood until he had to reach a conclusion here or there- could even have Blake medicated if need be. Find him a doctor, convince him to go and perhaps ease his mood swings. There would be no denying, however, that some people are just wicked. Perhaps not born that way so much as created, not like Frankenstein in a lab, but at home in the cradle. In their bedroom, on the streets. In their everyday lives.

Blake was just that- a wicked, corrupt man. Not evil incarnate, that he wouldn't go so far to name. If so, he would have been horrible as his job. Even Hitler couldn't run an army to save his fucking life, a fact that allowed for the rather supreme collapse of the German army at the end of World War II. Could easily account for the fall of the Roman empire at the increasing moral ineptitude of it's leadership. Jayden noticed a burning fire in the man's eyes when it came to Blake and his job, a man dedicated to his craft, as any worthwhile man should be. Just as passionate about his job as Jayden was his, he reasoned. He had indeed been concerned about finding those children…Even if the methods behind them were pure and simple unlawful misconduct of the highest regard.

The agent didn't want to admit it…But from day one, he had been trying to impress Blake. Not really so much intentionally, but more so under his own bated breath. Sneaking under the radar of his own subconscious. It wasn't an attempt to so much ram his abilities down he older man's throat, but to earn respect from someone who so obviously hated his guts. It was hardwired into the younger man's brain to desire to be liked. When he didn't get a general feeling of admiration for his abilities that he received at the FBI, he was honestly surprised and a bit taken aback. From the day he arrived at that rainy crime scene, he knew he'd have to go a long way to convince this particular police force- especially Lieutenant Carter Blake, of his methods.

How could someone sleep with the enemy- with the devil- and ever feel clean again?

Even now, as he sat squirming in the deck chair, still figuring out how he could feel so real but be so fake- he tried to look as professional and polite as possible. He even combed his hair, splashed some virtual water in his face in order to look awake. Despite the fact that he was ready to fall asleep, fat and happy as soon as he finished.

"Want cheese?"

Turning his head, he found himself a bit surprised by the normalcy of the question. Jerking a nod, he cleared his throat and spoke as clearly as possible.

"Yes, please."

The lieutenant almost smirked at his behavior, acting like a good little dinner guest. The food was almost done- he found himself actually riveted by the upcoming meal. Like a pupil readying his science project, knowing this was going to be a fascinating turn of events. All evidence so far pointed to the kid being able to ingest solid food. Now that Blake had come to be the only way for him to get nourishment, it was going to be incredibly entertaining yanking him around like a dog on a short leash.

"So, you think you'll be able to watch the game, later?" Carter questioned in a tired voice.

Norman raised his view from the table below him, modestly looking the man above him through the ARI as it sat outside his eyes. He went to speak, and coughed a bit from his dry throat.

"I…Well, I think I could. I mean, if it's alright with you-"

"Well, you see, Norman…" Carter paused, and then reached to shut the grill off as he noticed the food was easily ready by now.

"Way I see it; we're business partners, now." There came a horrible twitch to the corner of his mouth.

The ex-agent clenched his teeth and blushed horribly, though he tried his best to hide it by glancing back down.

"…And I need to protect my investment, right? You're entitled to a certain few _perks_, if you behave..."

Right now, he couldn't feel any more like an ass if he tried. He wasn't a child, not a piece of meat, either. Just when he went to open his mouth to say something, he shut it when noticed Blake preparing the food- getting out a paper plate and watching him look left to right as he tried to find where he put the fixings.

_'Shit, shit, shit…Fuck it, I'm hungry, so goddamn' hungry…Play nice.'_

Pausing, for the first time he noticed the radio had been on. He heard it of course, but didn't pay much attention. "One bourbon, one scotch, one beer" by George Thorogood & The Destroyers started up, and he internally winced- he didn't care much for older music- unless it was piano- then according to him it was timeless.

"What'd you want on it?" Carter asked, grabbing the mustard and planting some on a burger, which he had to guess was his own.

"…Everything." Norman licked his dry lips again- he eyed the unopened case of Budweiser sitting on the table, having just been pulled from the fridge and looked pretty cold. God, he could use one right now. Not that he was much of a fan of beer, whiskey and vodka being more his forte. Still, there was nothing like a cold brewski to quench one's thirst. Even if he personally would have far rather had Heineken or Yuengling, and Budweiser made his stomach churn…Whatever. Beggars can't be choosers. He certainly was a beggar, presently.

"Christ, kid. If you want one, just ask."

Glancing up, he saw that Carter had been watching him lick his lips as he stared at the 12-pack of red, gold and-white packaged beer. Leaning back, he felt rather embarrassed but just gave a little laugh to take the pressure off.

"…Yeah, sorry. Did'n want to impose…"

A small laugh came from the back of the cop's throat as he glanced up from placing onions on both of their burgers.

"Oh? You weren't imposing by giving me a hummer? Cool your jets and settle down, if you want something just fuck'n say it."

'_He's starting to get on my nerves.' _Jayden thought to himself, tilting his head as he parted his lips, staring awkwardly to Blake's left as he reached over to open the pack of beer. _'I don't know what he wants anymore, when I'm a dick, he's a dick. When I'm polite, he's __**still **__a dick. I guess it's just ingrained in his personality to be an incredible asshole. I better get used to it.'_

A cold beer was placed to his right, can top already opened. He supposed it was because Blake didn't know if he could perform such actions himself. It made the agent feel like a child again; asking mommy and daddy to do everything from tie his shoes to open up the jar of cookies.

"Thanks…" Norman said, making eye contact with the man unwillingly, getting a small nod in response.

Experimenting, he grabbed the beer carefully. He was relieved to find he could wrap his hand around it, and brought it to his lips experimentally. Parting them, he tilted the can and let it run down his throat. It was just as good as he expected…Cold, bitter yet refreshing. He tilted the can back further, taking a few mouthfuls and swallowing greedily. He watched as Blake looked towards the agent with interest, like his own little experiment.

"If I took these things off, what would happen?"

Norman looked at Carter with fear in his eyes, and shook his head in earnest.

"…I don't wanna find out. Not now-"

Blake ripped them off- and to his surprise, he remained. Sitting there like a jackass with his eyes wide, beer held towards his lips.

"Goddamn it, Cartah!"

"What? Nothing happened…In fact, why is that? I thought you were in these things?" He indicated, shaking the ARI in his right hand.

"I…It's, complicated. I can still phase out, though. Please, put them back on?"

"Please? Aw, Norman. You're so polite…" Carter pried out his own beer, popping the tab as he finished up the agent's plate of food.

"…Tell you what…You know how you get a new car, and you drive it as long as you can on an empty tank, just to see how far you can go?"

He watched the other man swallow, then looked around nervously. It was lovely, watching him become so vulnerable, so reliant on the good will of others. If it weren't for him, Jayden wouldn't even be sitting in front of him right now. It was intensely satisfying, perhaps even arousing. This thought overwhelmed him as he shifted in his stance, unsure if he would grow hard from that particular thought or not.

"Food's done…"

Gulping another swig of beer, Norman wiped the amber liquid from his face and eyed the food graciously as it was sat in front of him. He could smell it, which he knew was a good step in the right direction. He nodded to Blake as he sat down across from him, who gazed at him with a certain interest. Eyes wondering up and down his tense frame as they locked gazes.

"…Thanks." A slight smile came to the kid's face, and it couldn't help but stay there as he watched him reach down to begin his proverbial feast.

Blake couldn't help but twitch a smirk in response as he watched Jayden take the burger and raise it up, taking a huge bite and chewing. A muffled moan passed his lips as he chewed the immense bite- a lump forming in his right cheek as he moved the food about inside his mouth.

"Oogggh…Aghts wut Iiiah neegghtedd."

Carter nodded and parted his lips as he watched the starved man attempt to talk.

"So, I'm guessing you can eat, eh?"

Norman jerked a nod, smiling in gratitude as he eyed the other man without apprehension for once.

Blake sat back and grabbed his own burger, taking a bite and watching in curiosity as Jayden wolfed down his ration. There was a moment when he choked a little, but a swig of beer was used to wash it down.

"Slow down there, kid." Blake laughed, finding the whole situation rather amusing.

"I'm not gonna take it off of you…"

Shaking his head, Norman took a napkin to his face and swallowed earnestly.

"…I know… I know." He gulped once more, licking his lips and taking another drink and pushing the can aside. He looked up at Carter as if asking permission, and in response he sighed and nodded towards the case.

"Don't be shy- I can always get more tomorrow…"

Norman internally smiled as he reached into the case, fishing out another cold can and popping the tab as he heard the bubbles fizz. He sat it down and worked on his corn, eagerly gobbling the kernels with a newfound zest. All the while, the normally belligerent lieutenant sat back and munched away slowly. Studying the agent with the eyes of a detective at work. _'Like watching a train wreck.' _He reasoned. '_Can't turn away…'_

It was pathetic, really. Watching the kid mow down the simple meal. Yet also, extremely sad. A pang of distress struck his heartstrings, watching as Jayden struggled to breath from the sheer speed of his chow-down, almost choking again as the kernels stuck in his throat. He knew the guy was hungry, but holy shit. It was as if he had gone a week without food instead of a few days. Not to mention-, how could he even be hungry to begin with? Wasn't he dead? Wasn't he…Oh, he didn't know…_not even real?_ In that case, how was he eating like a fiend right in front of him…Without even the ARI working as it should? Carter was struck by this momentarily, and like that, he watched as Norman flickered. Rather like a how a TV will go out of focus for a brief second, barely noticeable.

Carter surprised himself with the concern he suddenly felt. His heart actually lurched at the feeling of losing the brat- and he couldn't help but wonder why.

_'Because Ash makes a shitty drinking buddy, he's too quiet; you can't even tease 'em or he gets all offended and leaves. God forbid you talk about a girl then he brings up his whore of a mother, goes and has a fit. Norman? 'Could pick on him all day, he'd take it all. Might even think it's funny.'_

Norman again sprang back into clarity as he pondered these things- The only thing he could piece together was how he was questioning Jayden's strange existence. It made him less real somehow. It would be a fascinating experiment, but it was something he'd have to ignore. He was making progress and didn't want to go backwards. Carter felt the ceaseless, burning ambition to discover what this whole thing was really about.

Said agent looked up with Carter with eager eyes, wanting to lick the sweet, salty butter off his fingers. Yet he reminded himself those weren't the best manners in front of his dinner host, was it? So he instead sought the napkin as he rubbed his hands through the thick paper-towel provided, then wiped his face the best he could.

"Good?" Carter inquired; Norman looked up as he padded the butter from his lips.

"Yeah…Yeah, it was good." He smiled meekly, looking away in embarrassment at his prior actions.

"Well don't expect anything of this caliber for a while…" Blake let out with the passing of a sigh, getting up from his seat as he leaned over and grabbed his paper plate.

"…This is the full extent of my cooking abilities. Microwave dinners for you, kid."

Jayden smirked a little as he watched the older man disappear into the house. For a moment, fear clutched in his chest. Could he remain here when Carter was in a totally different room? Jerking in his seat so hard, the chair squeaked its plastic shell, he looked about to see if the scenery would change. Watching, he saw the scenery shutter in and out, passing briefly between an ocean scene and his current location. Fear clutched in his chest as he felt his heart practically squeezed.

"Blake!" He cried out, jumping from his chair and running hastily inside.

There was an almost-collision as he stopped himself just in time as he saw the imposing figure at the doorway. His eyes looked alive with irritation, brimming with a snappy, temper-laden fire as he grit his teeth.

"What?" Came the bark that was his voice- eyeing the agent up and down.

"I think I'm starting to fade out-"

"Yeah, I noticed that, too. Don't worry-You won't die, remember?"

A full-body shiver racked through the young man as he took a step back and straightened his tie. Parting glances, he looked off to the side as he cleared his throat.

"I'm quite aware of that," An edge to his voice that curled out without intention. "…I just…Wasn't ready to go back yet. When's t' game?"

For a brief second, the corner of Blake's mouth curled up in a smirk. It disappeared quickly as his eyes returned to their harsh state. All the respect that the older lieutenant had for the young agent- which wasn't much to begin with- was fading fast. He had turned so desperate so quick; he was already a shell of a man. If it wasn't for his new-found "abilities" that Carter sought to take full advantage- he'd be disgusted enough to shut him out. That, or perhaps use him as a rather lively punching bag. He considered nailing him across the face many times while alive- here he had the chance without restrictions.

Something stayed his hand, however. Not only did he need the kid lively and healthy (despite still being very dead) for his 'services', he would need him in relatively decent shape if he wanted to pursue this so called 'errand' of his. The more he thought about it, the more he rather liked the idea of fucking the FBI over and taking everything of interest from the rich little twat's house. It was a rather exciting venture; the very endeavor itself was going to be a proverbial spit in the government's face. Defacing the former agent's home as he sought to remove anything interesting to his tastes even if he had to tear it from the fucking wall.

Blake was always the troublemaker, the shit-stirring type that came into a room and made fights where there were none to be had. Perhaps even none possible, all until he banged open the door and saw people fucking around, not getting shit done. He almost wanted to be caught rummaging through Jayden's house, so he could have a chance to fuck up some local FBI and their whole perfect little worlds.

"…Five." Carter paused, then repeated the rest. "…Pre-game starts at four thirty…"

Jayden nodded, moving his body as he looked beyond the lieutenant to glance at the clock on the wall.

"It's going on a quarter 'till…"

Surprisingly enough, Blake looked back and made a face. Obviously, he had lost track of time. Not that it mattered; the pre-game was a bunch of bull anyway. He wasn't one for hearing people piss and moan about sports as if anything they said actually mattered.-

"Shit, we're missing the pre-game? I wanted to see that."

_'Mother…Fucker…'_

Grumbling in his throat, Blake turned around and made his way towards the living room.

"Son of a _bitch_, Norman. You need some tampons? I can run down to the 'fuck'n drug store and get some."

Glancing up with a perplexed expression, Norman parted his pink lips and narrowed his eyes. Furrowing his brow, a slight red overcame his face as he twisted his mouth to bite his tongue.

"I wern't _bitchin', _Cartuh." He spat out, and the older man rather hated the way the Boston bureaucrat pronounced his name. Might as well not even have an "r" at the end of it.

"I was just- Fuck, never mind. You wanna watch the game or what?"

"Actually, I was thinking we'd just jack off all day... Here, I'll start first, get on you're knees and I'll finish in you're face-"

In a fit of irritation, Norman brushed past the other alpha male as he knocked shoulders with him. Unintentionally, a flutter arose in the center of his full, bloated stomach at the contact. Pushing this aside, he spun about and eyed the nasty expression on his face that radiated tense, boiling venom and distaste. Yet instead of flying towards the kid with a temper-fueled ire and long pent-up rage, he gave an icy laugh and smiled so wide his sharp canines could be viewed like the teeth of a long-decayed animal skull of a bad stretch of road.

Norman opened his mouth to speak, and stood there as his mouth opened…yet the sound that came out sounded more like a strangled cry then a word. His soft blue eyes couldn't compete with the stormy globes of the lieutenant, and he couldn't help but shut up and turn away.

_'He has you, you know…' _His thoughts rose to a terrifying perdition as he walked towards the couch.

_'Right in the palm of his hand. 'Better watch out. Way he looks at you…He's starting to look at you different, can't you tell? He wants more from you, not just a blowjob…Isn't it obvious? The guy wants to fuck you, and you won't be able to fight back. How could you? Why would you? Blake practically owns you now."_

The smile faded quickly from Blake's face as it turned into smirk, watching the kid sit down on the couch as politely as possible. A lump visibly formed in his throat as it bobbed up and down, and it reminded him of the incredibly pleasant experience they shared earlier. Well, it was pleasant for _him_ anyway.

"It's on channel six, I'll go get the beer…"

Parting glances, Norman's hands began to freely shake in a combination of long held-back withdrawal symptoms coupled with good-old-fashioned nerves. He felt his face drain in color as his heart rate suddenly accelerated in his chest, and the realization of all these symptoms only made it worse. The previously haunting eyes of his turned blood-shot, looking more like angry seas of blood then a tropical ocean. Taking a few deep breathes; he inhaled and exhaled with some difficulty, praying like hell that he wouldn't disappear from the scene.

_'Why? You should want to! You can run back home and wash your face, can get out of here before he puts the glasses back on. Now's the time to ditch Carter, if anything!'_

In all honesty, Norman didn't know himself anymore. Why did he want to stick around as long as possible with this lunatic? The more he interacted with him, the less he felt that revulsion and fear coiling in his gut like a bad illness.

On cue, the agent felt himself flutter again, felt the room start to give way. A blink, and he was back in the vacation house in Martha's Vineyard. His red, tear-stained eyes scanned the room as he felt his heart pulse madly in his torso- finding himself grateful that he still had a heart.

Norman stood up and found his legs carrying him in a drunken stupor- his momentum and weight turning him into a bone and flesh torpedo as he sailed across the room. Just barely stopping himself from flying into the antique furniture.

Through blurry, squinting eyes, he noticed the layout of the house had slightly changed. He remembered the old house like the back of his hand, and this shit defiantly was _not _right. The angles were all wrong, the large bay window in the kitchen no longer there, neither were the stairs positioned in a grandiose spiral towards the front door. His heart seized in alarm when he realized the house now closer resembled Blake's, and that in fact, if it wasn't for the slight change in hues…There wasn't much difference at all.

_'I'm slipping into the Twilight Zone, goddamn it…'_

Stumbling about, he tripped as he walked towards the altered staircase and caught his weight on the large, jutting handrail. It was still like the Martha's Vineyard house, in the sense that it was made of stained wood from ages long past. With a hopeless expression, he gained a sensitization of vertigo as he craned his neck towards the incline.

_'Hold on, Norman. You can do it…You've done worse.'_

Latching onto the rail, he crawled along it as he put one foot in front of the other. Ten steps up, he felt his weight haul him back. In reflex, he grabbed onto the railing even harder and steadied himself. Knuckles turning white as he once again struggled upwards. Cresting the top of the stairs, he threw himself forward into the bathroom and leaned over the- Fuck! The bathroom wasn't here anymore!

_'GODDAMN IT! Fuck…ME. Fuck…Fuck…Shit!'_

Growling in his throat, Norman spun himself around from the strangely empty upstairs rooms. Rooms that normally would have held bedrooms and a rather nice bathroom with a large whirlpool bath. Now it was strangely vacant, nothing on the walls and an incredibly eerie feeling in the air.

When he went to take a step, he gasped as instead, his foot and then his entire body sailed through thin air, and he landed on the floor from what had to be the ceiling.

"Norman! What the _fuck_?"

Blake stood there with the ARI in front of his eyes. He gazed at the odd display, having just witnessed Jayden literally falling through the roof up above towards his doorway and landing on his charcoal colored carpet in a heap.

"Jesus _fuck_, you a magician now or what?"

Norman would laugh if he had it in him, he'd never seen the older man so perplexed. So utterly blown away, not even when he saw him for the first time in ARI. He watched as he took a step to the left and right, looking up above the agent's position as he glared at the invisible hole that simply didn't exist.

Blake looked back down, he caught an expression on the kid's face that could only be described as pure retardation. His head swayed about as his eyes partially closes, his mouth hung partially open as he groaned from the impact.

"I…I went upstairs…"

"…You went upstairs?"

"Yea-yeah…" Norman exasperated, and Carter watched as he shuddered a little as he attempted to come out of his stupor.

"How'd the fuck you go _upstairs, Jayden! This is a one-floor house!"_

"I uh…I took, I took the steps-" He pointed haphazardly towards the doorway, then dropped his finger and used the hand to hold himself up.

"Wha…What the fuck! There's no stairs-_what? _Seriously, Jayden?"

Blake went off, gesturing madly as he threw his hands in the air and stomped around. For once, the agent didn't feel worried for his own well-being. The lieutenant seemed more flustered then angry. It wasn't often he came across something he couldn't figure out. A smile edged out as he showed his teeth for the first time in a grin in Philadelphia.

"I…I took the stairs…"


	7. Unusual Appetite

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, and sex between two men. (In later chapters.)**

Author's Note: **I am a major cunt for taking so long in updating. No joke. Let's just say summer is a busy time of the year for me. I haven't been lax in writing this baby, though. So no worries! And what the hell is up with all this Jayden het, my minions? LAME. Not to mention hard to believe. Sorry- imagining Jayden with a woman sends me into fits of laughter. Like watching Freddie Mercury do anything straight- you'd be like "awww, he's trying..." Seriously. OH, and I'll be fixing some mistakes from earlier chapters, nothing major. I got Jayden's age all wrong and wrote him a bit too young at the start (even IF I still think he looks way younger then the two ages I found) and I forgot that I wanted this to be a continuation of the best ending, minus Jayden getting out alive. So if you read those already, no need to re-read them or anything. Just saying.**

* * *

**_"The devil's voice is sweet to hear."- _**_Stephen King_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

When the sun came through the window, it must have heated the black couch. Because it felt incredibly warm, able to smell the fine aroma of leather about him as the strange little dust particles drifted about in the sunrayscoming in through the glass. Norman stretched his legs a little more as he propped his shoe-less feet on the coffee table. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Carter to see if he disapproved. Yet he never seemed to take notice, appearing to be more focused on the action on TV.

"Awwwhh, come on! No fuck'n way he was out…"

The agent winced at the man's sudden curse, watching as he stamped his feet on the ground and made a seething growl in irritation. It was on the tip of his tongue to calm him with a subtle "It's okay, Blake.", yet it never escaped his throat. Tripping up on his tongue as it tried to speak.

"You see that?" He turned to Norman, pointing at the screen. "No way, no fuck'n way he was out. Shithead umpire, what's _he _see? Couldn't call a play if it bit 'em in the ass!"

A smile tug at Jayden's lips as he watched Blake lose it over a baseball game. It was the first game in the World Series, Phillies were losing to the Sox by two points, so he could understand his frustration. There was something almost…adorable about the older man actually getting upset over something so mundane. So…Normal to actually be pissed about. Even Jayden himself was human enough to find himself flipping out over a bad call. Strange as it was, he considered this all a rather enjoyable experience. It was a normal, almost relaxing event in his very strange, current, existance. He was beginning to wish him and Blake could have gotten along better instead of gnashing teeth, spitting and hissing like two tom cats in an alleyway. They could have easily hit up a bar before he left town and done this very same thing. And you know...He could be _alive. _Imagine the concept!

_'Is he the lesser of two evils, or the worse?' _The ex-agent pondered. _'I could have forced him out, told him the ARI would kill him some day...and I wouldn't be lying. Then I'd sit here for the rest of this afterlife in a fate worse then actual death. Am I being selfish? You need to tell him sometime, you know. What if his nose bleeds? Or his eyes? What happens when he starts showing withdrawal symptoms...?'_

"Yeah, I see it…" Norman lied, for the interest of self-preservation. "I see what you mean-"

"You should! Such a crock of _bullshit_!" Blake looked back towards the screen with a clenched jaw.

A few minutes went by; they watched the game peacefully as they could. Norman had to admit the Phillies were putting up a good fight, could see Carter's shoulders tense with every mistake they made. Norman was a bit cooler under pressure, having a two-point lead. The stands were full of excited Philadelphians and traveling Sox fans alike- and his eyes traveled over all the happy families out with their kids. Kids he'd never have, families he'd never have. It made even his pleasant experience somewhat depressing. _'I made a deal with the devil, all to save my reputation...Does it even matter, now? Does anything?'_

Sighing, Jayden shifted in his seat, wincing at the bruises that had formed from the earlier incident. An incident he was sure Blake was still a bit irritated from. Again, he had taken the ARI off in order to see the TV better. Yet he felt less worried this time, mostly because he was sitting and knew he wouldn't fall nearly as much this time.

So far, so good. Carter ignored his sigh as he glanced in frustration at the players, willing them from afar to show the little shit next to him whom the superior team really was. Shifting, crossing his arms, Norman felt himself suddenly anxious as he reached up to adjust his tie. Fidgeting again, he brushed dust from the sleeves quickly as if suddenly aware of how filthy he was.

"I don't know how you can stand wearing that thing all the time…"

Norman looked up to see Carter flashing him a glance.

"I'm sorry?"

"That suit- come on, you can't really like that thing, can you?"

"I don't think I have much of a choice right now, do I?"

Blake shrugged his shoulders and looked back towards the screen, a commercial had come on. So, he looked back to taunt the agent even more.

"I think you do- you can eat _and _drink, I'm sure you could take that shit 'off-"

"It's not _shit, _it's Giorgio Armani." Norman misspoke, forgetting that he was talking to a man who looked down on such purchases.

Blake's eyes got wide as he put his hands into the air and shook them side to side to indicate his extreme "excitement."

"Oooooh! Well, excuse me! Sorry about that- 'wasn't aware I was speaking to the _fucking_ Queen of England- Shit you in Philly now? You really let yourself go downhill- ."

"Alright! Christ, I know it was a fag thing to say. I get it, 'Cartah-"

"Cart_ER."_

"That's what I said, Cartuh-"

"_Fuck_, Boston boy, I've never heard such a fucked New England accent in all my life. You shit-heads come down all the time and think you're gracing us with you're _pleasant_ little upper-class bullshit- but you? The least you could do is take the time to say something right."

Norman bit his bottom lip horribly, trying his best not to spout out the various curses he had on the very tip of his tongue. He could think of a million ways to insult the man's intelligence and flimsy logic. Instead, he thought of a different way to put the lieutenant in his place.

"Well, what the fuck is Ori_GAYME-E_ killer supposed to mean?"

"The hell you talking about, Norman?" His voice on the verge of irrtation, trying to redirect his focus to the game.

"'Evah since I came here you've been say'in that wrong."

"No I haven't-"

"Yeah, you've!" The perturbed agent jackknifed upwards.

"Say it, say it right now!"

Waves of tension rolled forth from the man seated across from him on the couch. Yet he seemed to take it amazingly well in stride. There was an obvious grinding of the teeth as his jaw rocked back in forth in it's socket, his lips drawing into a line as he then licked him like a dog kept from it's meal.

"Or-a-gaym-ee killer-"

"You see? You hear yahself? What's that, a Brooklyn acc-"

"_Fuck you, _Jayden!" Blake cast a hateful glance towards the kid as he snarled towards the fact that the Phillies didn't seem to be picking up any slack.

"'Lived in PA all my life, for your information. Not that it's any of your goddamn business." He snarled, wishing he could focus on the little cunt exclusively to display his rage.

There was an awkward silence as Jaydensmiled like a Cheshire cat, reaching forward and grabbing his beer as he took a sip. The young agent rolled about what to say next, having one-uped the older, supposedly superior male.

"…Not from fuck'n New York…Don't offend me with that shit. What about you, fuckhead? Boston boy, eh?"

Jayden relaxed a little, actually glad that he responded first so he wouldn't have to think of a sly barb to fire back.

"Born 'n raised." Norman took another glub from the can, rolling it around in his mouth as he sat back.

Another small silence, yet Jayden couldn't stop his mouth from going once it started. The two were finally starting to learn a little about each other.

"So- that a Philly thing, then?"

"'The fuck you mean, 'Philly thing?'" Blake questioned an edge to his voice. Obviously frustrated at having just been bothered again.

"You know…An ax-cent thing? Every city's got it."

The commercials started, the first onefeaturing the typical masculine stereotype of manly men surrounded by woman as they celebrated a particular beer beverage. Blake averted his gaze from the TV and caught Jayden's as he attempted to shut his curiosity out once and for all.

"Maybe it is, I don't really give a shit. Why is this such a big fucking fascination for you?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he looked towards the screen as that commercial ended and one for yet another alcoholic beverage started up.

"'Just making conversa'shun."

Blake took a second to analyze that, scoffed, laughing a bit under his breath.

"Let's get something straight, Norm." Came Blake's vicious reply.

"…We're not friends, okay? I know sucking my dick made you think we got married, but as far as I'm concerned- this is a professional relationship. So- if I were you, I'd keep conversation formal…"

Norman's heart rate increased as his face turned red. This time it wasn't so much from embarrassment as much it was anger. He watched as Blake talked, thumbing his nose nonchalantly as he spoke, sniffling at the end of it in order to clear his nasal passages. Looking towards the kid, he gave him a long glance from under his eyebrows, in an attempt to show how relaxed he had become.

"…Y'know?"

Clenching his jaw, Norman turned his gaze back to the TV. Damn, the commercial breaks were long! He winced at the awkward nature of the Cialis commercial that rolled. _'Well, I know of one middle-aged man who sure as hell doesn't have that problem."_

"Blake! What's you're problem?" The agent sat up in his seat again, bringing his shoulders forward in an attempt to re-estabiblish dominance.

"I'm not saying we're on a fucking date- I just want to be a _little _social with the guy who's cock I'm blowing- 'fah what, it 'doesn't matter. Don't start your shit with me again- I don't need it."

"Yeah? Well I'll be sure to get my photo album out, my yearbooks, all that shit, so you can see my whole life story! Or maybe when we go to your funeral, we can chat it up with your cousins, aunts' n uncles and shit- and tell them all about our little fuck-sessions using your glasses- or hey, let's all go down to the _fucking mall _and get some ice-cream together-We can do that thing where we walk with our hands in each other's pockets-"

Rising to his feet, Jayden walked around the couch and into the kitchen in a huff. The older man's tensions rose as he felt the hairs prick up on the back of his neck as if he was ready to intimidate the other male rather how two dogs square off before a fight. Christ, he almost had the desire to lift his leg and mark his fucking territory.

"-Actually, that sounds great right about now. I haven't had ice cream in a while…"

Blake's head bobbed as he sharply laughed a few times, biting his bottom lip in a combination of amusement and irritation. Looking over, he watched as Jayden disappeared past his vision and towards the sink of his kitchen. Noticing the game was back on, he reached back and grabbed the remote, pausing the DVR and looking back.

"What'r you doing in there?" The older man posed.

"You said to just do something if I wanted to- that I wouldn't be 'intrud'en…"

This made Carter curious, which was more of a cat behavior then the pit bull he was- and got up as he went to see what exactly the little house crasher had gotten into. He spied him hunched over the sink, washing his face fervently, the water soaking his sleeves.

"…You alright?" Carter surprised himself with the question- it was meant more out his inquisitive nature then his good will. "Norman…?" His voice was more like an upturn, coming out as a question more then anything.

"You gonna die again, or what?"

He watched as the soft-brown head shook a no- finally leaning onto the sink and reaching up awkwardly to attempt and grab the handle. Missing at first, he found it on the second try and shut the stream of water off.

Though he had to admit he'd never really given a shit when girl friends from times past were sick and were practically begging him for a fucking tissue. Oh, of course he'd _get _the fucking things, God forbid they get off their prissy asses to get a tissue while he was getting ready for work- Jayden was different in more ways then one. The main one being the whole "being a man and having a penis" thing- but also the fact that he seemed at least respectful towards his authority- despite his little uprisings. They were starting to come off like a shy little turtle coming out of his shell. He could learn to live under his own tyrannical rule.

"Sorry…" Came the brunette, sounding like a sick patient. "After I ate, I haven't been feeling well…"

"Don't blame me; I didn't give you food poisoning-"

'_That's not what I meant, you shithead-'_

"Not like that…Just…weak. A bit nauseated. I think I got up too fast, don't worry about it. I won't be a burden."

Jayden didn't hear anything from behind him, and instead worked on drying his face off with a nearby paper towel, walking over and nonchalantly searching for a trashcan. Blake seemed to notice and pointed over towards the door.

"…Over there."

Nodding a 'thanks', Norman walked over and deposited the used paper-towel into the can. He turned to look at his captor, noticing a fascinated look on his face.

"What…?"

Shaking his head a little, the lieutenant's gaze changed from an almost sympathetic one to his typical snide, angry demeanor.

"I just don't get it." He started, teeth flashing in a display of machismo.

"-You finally get something to eat- been saying you're hungry since forever, and when you do, you just get worse- you lying to me about something, Norm?"

Narrowing his eyes, the agent stood taller as he took every advantage of the good inch or two he had over the cop. His mouth opened wide and he rose a his right fist into the air in a display of irritation, yet he looked away and brought it down as he managed a growl in his throat instead. His usually soft gaze changing into that of an opportunistic predator looking for a weak point in his argument to take advantage of.

"What if I am? Why would you care, Blake?" The younger man threw his right hand up as he spoke, gesticulating and enhancing his point.

"I thought you didn't give a shit about me- just business partners, 'right?"

The man in black appeared to be analyzing that as he spoke, looking the agent up and down in his 'lovely' Armani suit he seemed so proud of. _'Fancy fucking asshole.' _

"Now you listen here you little prick- it's called _protecting _my _investment."_ Carter stressed a point, making a pointing motion towards the ground as he talked. He sneered as he spoke, and for a moment, the older man reconsidered punching the bastard at long last.

"…I don't need you getting sick while I have to tend to your ailing ass. I have a career- in case you haven't noticed. I don't even know _how you can get fucking sick- _I have no idea what your issue is with you being dead and in a pair of fancy fucking glances- but I do know you're standing right in front of me- pissing and moaning because somebody found your shit out. That I _do _know. I'm not an idiot, Jayden. Now, are you _sick, _or what?"

Jayden's heart throbbed in his chest, watching the hot, livid gaze of Blake going through his temper-driven bought of searing anger. It wasn't the worse he'd seen the other man, not by a long shot. Yet in his suddenly weakened state; he found it difficult to look the other man squarely in the eyes, and averted them halfway through.

It was then when Jayden's blood pressure suddenly spiked, and a cold, easily recognizable sensation flowed down the top of his lip. He looked down as his vision blurred in and out; watching a few spots of blood hit the linoleum floor.

'_Shit…Shit! I'm fuck'n_**_ in _**_ARI since a few days ago, and I'm finally showing symptoms of overuse? I-I…No, not in front of Blake- I'd rather die then-'_

"-the fuck is wrong with your nose?" Blake questioned, his tone growing even more anxious.

"Shit, there's something you're not telling me, I knew it. How the fuck am I supposed to treat a dead man, Norman?"

"…Dizzy…Just, dizzy…"

The older man watched Jayden stumble about, his legs steadily becoming rubbery as his eyes lost all focus. It was then that he looked down and saw the kid's hands shaking. '_Just a little dizzy, eh?' _

Almost in a sort of reflex action, Blake found himself grabbing a paper towel from the modest holder nearthe sink. He dipped his head a touch as he took a step forward, almost unintentionally signaling a sort of temporary submission as he edged closer. He attempted to hand it to the agent, putting it out with one hand. Yet it became apparent he wasn't going to take it from him. His gaze wasn't even focusing on anything except the blank space in front of his eyes. Just by his stance, he could tell the other man was about ready to collapse. Deep down he knew what he was about to do was a bit intimate, not really becoming of him or particularly prideful for a straight man- though he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to do it. Blake had no real problem laying his hands on other people, oddly enough, especially other men. It was a hardwired inclination in a dominant, testosteronene driven male such as him. He had that desire to touch Norman, not so much sexually as much as to obtain control. The agent always seemed uncomfortable about it, though. On the Origami Killer case, he patted the kid on the back only once, before the meeting in that small room. He seemed to move away and give the man an odd look. Immediately, Blake's opinion of the man faltered significantly lower. God forbid he even _touch _an FBI agent- he had acted like Blake was a creeper in the street, not his new, temporary partner. Yet it appeared from the evidence he presented, that Jayden did not like to be touched, and didn't want to do so to others unless somebody was seriously fucked up. It instilled that caring emotion in him, not a domineering trait in his persona.

"Here, kid…"

There was an obvious sigh as he swallowed his pride, he walked up and placed his left hand into the small of his back. He watched as Norman shied away from his touch, his face reacting as his eyes widened and his whole body did a massive shiver. The muscles pulled away from his warm, infernal palm as he felt pressure applied. Wincing, he felt revolted as a pleasurable sensation consumed him, mirroring being dipped from the waist down in warm water- devouring everything below his solar plexus and down to his thighs.

"Come sit down. Take that fucking thing off. We've got a game to watch."

Despite his groggy state, Jayden managed to shakily look towards the older man in a perplexed manner as he was pushed forward. When he stumbled, Carter's right arm shot out and steadied his stance as it nestled warmly on his stomach.

"Don't fall; you're not much good to me crippled." Blake sneered at his own comment, letting slip a dark laugh.

"…Or, actually, you know what? I don't need you to be moving. I just don't want to wait on you like I'm your fucking husband."

Jayden's vision fuzzed in and out, his head lolling downward as he tried to watch his own feet shuffle. In the back of his mind, he didn't want Blake to work one ounce harder to attend to his needs- he felt emasculated as it was. His cheeks turned a vibrant red as his stomach bottomed out. Between his legs, the sensation of being so close to the dominant male flooded his body with a powerful cocktail of confusing emotions.

He had become accustomed to his scent throughout the origami case, not that it was something he noticed until he was gone. Not to mention felt afire in that cursed, devilish gaze, as it seemed to look him over and judge every ounce of man that he was. He swore he resembled some junkyard dog- like the powerful, muscular beast with a short snout and strong, stout legs whose tail would only wag on occasion- hackles up and body stiff as it evaluated the lankier, steely creature before him. Watching for weakness so he could strike, waiting for any chance to assert his alpha status, any slip up, any moment of faulty judgment at all. Blake jumped on it like a lamb to the slaughter placed in front of him; using every curse on the tip of his tongue instead of physical confrontation- not that he didn't want to. He could see it in the way he tensed up, could practically smell the adrenaline coursing through the man's veins.

Perhaps sex hadn't been on the older man's thoughts- or maybe they had been - all those long days ago. He couldn't read the man's mind, couldn't fully understand his fucked ways. Jayden could try, could work his magic the best to his ability. He theorized that perhaps Blake was just really perverted, yet it didn't seem to fit Jayden's own personal little profile of the older man. He was personally aware through some of his psychology teachings that straight men very often (more then they would ever personally admit) fantasized about dominating other men in a sexual way.

Had the man fantazied about him before, he wondered? Ever thought about raping him brutally from his behavior on the Origami Killer case? All in an attempt to "put him in his place?" He'd never seen a lusty look on the older man's face until he got on his knees in front of him earlier that day. Even then, it was fleeting. Instead, he always saw that look of pure indigent rage. Withheld, it seemed, within his body like a beast ready to bust from its cage, shaking and bending the bars as it tried to escape.

Perhaps it was because the other man craved control, sought to beat into submission everything he caught in disorder to comply to his ideal. His airtight standards that may or may not have been right or just. He was used to using his words, his fists, his position of power to drive others into subservience- when this failed to do the trick to Norman; he supposed this was a new and fun way to circumvent his authority into an uppity, attractive young man.

Norman felt the back of his legs hit the couch, and almost immediately he let them buckle so he could sit down onto the soft, warm fabric. He felt Blake lean him against the back, and the agent let squeak by a small moan of content as his head felt a solid surface. A tingle ran up his spin, and he visibly shuddered at the sensation of strange comfort brought on by the other man. A slightly soft fabric was felt against upper lip, and his head jerked to the side as he tried to avoid the odd, alien feeling. Sure he'd wiped his own nose before, but he never had another person do it for him. Force was applied as he moaned a little in protest, his own pride withering like a deadening flower as he had his upper lip forcibly wiped. He was rough about it, too. Putting way too much force into the action. Four powerful strokes later, he then cooed lightly as he then glided softly over his lips, collecting the last bit of blood from his soft, pliable mouth. He let that little pink tongue slip out again, a response he couldn't help but give. It licked the last bits of crimson as he blushed horribly at the sound he made, and let his head fall to the side in shame.

_'Just let it go. Don't think about it...Let him finish. It will be over soon.'_

"Now, we need to get you undressed…"

'_Wait, what?'_

With his eyes closed and head against the back of the cushion, he groaned in a rather negative fashion as his neck with the head attached squirmed against the fabric. He was too messed up to do much about it, and felt as his body was jerked forward, his jacket being ripped from his frame and pulled from behind his back.

'…_Better not rip my Armani, that bastard will be paying for another-'_

He could feel the jacket roll off the opposite wrist, and then hear it plop on the ground in a very careless fashion.

"Help me out here. I'm not you're fucking mom."

A small moan of protest left his lips as he tried to talk, opening his eyes then shutting them at the high light filtering in through the windows.

"_God_…My head…headache…The light…"

There came a low growl of irritation, and Jayden could feel the ground shake with the larger males' thunderous, angry footsteps. He could hear the shades being drawn, the sound of the large pieces of cloth smacking the windowsills in frustration.

"There, shithead. Take off you're pants, you're going to get dirt on my couch."

'_Just what I want to do…Get naked in your house, Carter.'_

Norman opened his eyes carefully, looking down to gaze at the suddenly complicated thing called a belt buckle. His heart throbbed wildly in his chest as Carter looked on, then heard him walk away as he started to undo the metal device. _'Thank God.' _Then suddenly found himself hurrying to do it in order to finish before he came back.

"You still hungry? I know I am."

Cocking his head, Jayden released the usual squint of his and looked up.

"Well…Yeah, I guess."

Looking back down with renewed vigor, he worked the button on his slacks as he then zipped it down, sat back and raised his butt in the air to take off his pants. Just then, Blake decided to show back up.

"I got chips, dip- salsa? Popcorn? Some shit like that?"

In surprise, Jayden ripped off the last bit of his pants as he choked on his own words, throwing the slacks to the ground as he squeezed his legs together and cleared his throat. He couldn't help but look up to gaze at Carter's eyes for a moment, and in that short time he managed to catch a glimpse of the other man giving him an up-and-down stare as his eyes quickly took notice of his partially naked form.

'_Well look at that, the little shit actually __**has **__leg hair. I thought fairies liked to shave themselves down? Still not a whole hell of a lot, though.'_

"Got uh…Got any pork rinds?"

It came out of Jayden's mouth so fast and so casual; he forgot whom he was speaking to. He had to say something to get over the embarrassment of having Blake look over his almost-naked lower half. Though he did love ths salty, low fat yet artery clogging food, he'd admit. Even if it was a rare treat.

He watched as Blake seemed to register surprise, his eyes narrowing slightly and pupils moving to the right side as if he was thinking of something.

"I think I do, actually…"

With this, he watched as Blake moved away again, letting his breath return to normal as he blushed horribly.

"…Brief man, huh?"

Head lolling to the side, he grimaced and sniffled as he registered Blake's question. In the background, he could hear him shuffling about in his pantry to find his requested food. For a moment Jayden found it amusing that he was working so hard for little ol' him, but reminded himself of the cop's words. Words he recited not even that long ago. It didn't do much to convince the dead agent, however. There was a compassionate side to Carter- one that took notice when his rival stumbled, and felt sympathy instead of jeering hate.

When Jayden had knocked out Korda, had killed Mad Jack- not a word of congratulations peaked his lips. Not even a glance of admiration, just recognition. When he killed Nathanial, however, stumbled in such a huge fashion and showed his inner humanity, his true colors, he showed Norman a hint of his compassion. His weakness an unintentional display of submission, having been taken down a notch. So when Jayden's hypothetical neck was out for the wolf to see, the canid showed his own at long last.

Jayden pondered this, the revelation sinking it at long last. So, did the lion want to lay down with the lamb, he wondered? No- he wasn't a fucking lamb, more like the lion…Blake being more like a muscular mongrol or a snake in the grass then something as regal or proud as a big cat on the African plains.

No, Norman was sure; there was an extremely protective side to the older man. A side that very obviously showed itself anytime his work was threatened in the Origami Killer case. A side that showed itself when the therapist and Ethan Mars himself refused to cooperate with the fearsome lieutenant- enraging him and making him look incompetent in front of the young agent. It wasn't so much protecting Shaun Mars as much as it was protecting his way of life, his terrifying image and reputation. Though he was positive Grace Mars' little plea spurred the man even further on, driving him to save the life of a young child even fruther then before. Now, Jayden was sure it was aimed at him in a strange way. In a way he was certain Blake was completely unaware of.

"Yeah…" Norman swallowed, drawing his legs up below him in order to appear less conspicuous.

"I see you 'ar, too."

He could hear a slight laugh under the older man's voice as he shut the cabinet, then the sound of a bag being rustled.

"Off 'n on. I like to sleep in boxers, briefs are too constricting, you know?"

For a moment, Norman swore he could launch into a conversation about how fucking true that was. How many times had he reached down and pried those things out as they rode up his ass, squeshing his nutsack and making him feel like he might as well be wearing woman's panties. He'd have to take them off half the time, but fuck how he hated to sleep naked. It made him feel vunrable and gross, a sensation he wasn't used to.

"That's true…" The young agent replied, clearing his throat at the incredibly awkward situation created.

"I know what you mean. I should try that."

Blake came into his vision, only now noticing his quick and fluid movements walk into the scene. His head had been cast downwards, Norman tenting his hands as he set his nose on top of them casually.

"What, you never thought about that, yourself?" The older man laughed, and then Jayden felt a bag of crinkly, salty treats smack him carelessly with a "poosh" sound, as he took a few seconds to realize Carter had tossed a bag of pork rinds at him.

Glancing down, the agent grabbed the bag as it lay to his side where it landed. A look of irritation crossed his features as he stole a look towards the lieutenant as he planted his own bag of chips in his lap. They looked like some store-brand tortilla chips, or maybe some Philidelphian, local brand he's never seen before.

"No, actually. Pracitical shit tends to go right over my head."

Smirking lightly at that, Carter peeked over to watch the young agent open the bag up eagerly. Taking a rind out and crunching it inside his mouth as the hollow piece of hog flesh crisped about inside his jaw.

'_No, __**now **__junk food never tasted so good. At least this ones fresh.'_

He watched as Blake eagerly somehow managed to wolf down two chips at once, eating them rather fastidiously. Funny, Norman himself found his own hunger peaking again. This wasn't normal for him- especially now that he was in this strange phase. A phase, a plane of existence-between reality and virtual reality. Nothing would be normal ever again.

"Alright, now that we're done fucking around…Ready to watch the game?"

Norman craved a blanket or something to hide his nakedness. It was incredibly awkward not to mention pride deflating to be sitting in a rather feminine style with just your tighty-whities.

"Do you have a cover or 'something?"

About to push the "start" button on the remote, Blake sighed a bit angrily in his throat, as he looked the agent over in slight disgust.

"What, you cold? It's fuckin' humid in here."

Norman actually didn't seem to notice the stickiness himself, he took warm weather a bit better then the cop seemed to. Actually, the whole time they were investigating the Origami Killer case, Carter rarely complained about the chill. The rain, sure. Anyone would bitch about that. Though it seemed the hardened beast of a man had the edge in getting used to such a similarly cold and merciless climate.

"Never mind, then." Norman gave up, a slight irritation in his voice.

It took a whole two seconds for Blake to set down the chips angrily, rising from his seat with a growl in another sigh as he stood up. Walking in a display of poweress brought on by the aggravation he was suffering, he lunged down and grabbed a red blanket from somewhere behind the couch. Tossing it at the agent, he gave him a nasty look before planting himself back down again.

"Happy, _Norm_?"

'_Actually…Yeah. Now I feel pretty comfortable, as much as I can around a head-case like you.'_

Nodding his thanks with a slight smile on his lips, he put the blanket over his neither regions. Now that he was covered from the older man's curious eyes, he _did _actually feel much better not being in his constrictive suit. He looked towards the TV as he let loose a relaxing sigh, feeling his body sink into the couch as he relieved all the tension he could muster.

Watching as the game once again started, Norman tried to focus the best he could on the screen. However, a certain flutter erupted in his stomach as he felt his companion's fingers brush past his toes. A tingle of warmth traveled all the way from his crotch up his back and throughout his torso. The fingers just grazed his toes, hastily grabbing at something that wasn't there.

Norman shot a glance over nervously, goosebumps forming as he watched Carter blindly search for his chip bag as he kept his eyes on the screen. He didn't even seem to notice the other man's reaction, then casually reached back as he spied them lying against the couch. Grabbing them, he learned backwards and once more began to shovel food into his mouth like a horse at its troff.

Swallowing hard, the agent pulled his toes in a little in response. He winced as the sound of Blake making a mock laugh filled the air in a frightening display of happiness he rarely saw. Looking back to the screen, he noticed Philly had scored.

"Aw, fuck."

Blake eyed the kid across from him up and down, ready to make fun of him for not only Philly gaining a point, but for that fact he looked like some sickly old lady with a blanket drawn across him like that. Christ, he might as well get a pair glasses and start knitting. Instead, his eyes traveled to the tie he still wore, and it rolled about in his head how Norman could possibly stand keeping that thing on all day. He hated wearing his own, as it was. This was precisely why he didn't have it on right now. _'So why the fuck should he?' _

"Take that fuck'n tie off. It's driving me crazy, Sox."

'_Sox? What am I, a cat now?'_

"I like this tie…"

"It's a Sunday afternoon, it's late, it's humid, and you're dead. For fuck's sake, take it off."

Norman scowled at the other man as he blatantly denied the man his wish. Instead, he crossed his hands before his chest and looked forward as he tried to focus on the game. Then he recognized the sound of leather shifting, and felt his body jerk forward with a feeling of a noose about his neck drawing closer.

Looking over with surprise, he watched as Blake yanked on his tie, once, then twice even harder.

"Come on, queer-boy. You look gay enough sitting there watching a game with that blanket- you don't need a tie-"

"Don't fucking call me queer, _you're _the one that wants to strip me, _asshole_!"

Carter only laughed at that, his eyes oddly smiling as he sat back and put his arms back up on the top of the couch.

"Nah- come on, kid. Back at parties in my day, you fucking ripped the other guy's pants down just to humiliate 'em. It was great- the girls would see what a tiny dick he had we'd all just laugh. Funny shit-I'm just making you look like the little douche you are."

Biting his lip, his own face draining of color as he sought to keep his cool, calm demeanor under control. He didn't want to give into this dickhead- even if he was his new lifeline. Even though that term was rather ill fitting considering he was no longer alive.

"…We didn't do that in my school."

"Yeah well, you missed out. What about college? I bet you must've been put through some hedonistic shit to get accepted into those little 'clicks' didn't you?"

Jayden went to speak, then actually found himself going towards a deeper, darker mode of thought. Twisting the own lieutenant's words, he fired back.

"What, we dating now? Need to know everything about my college days? We didn't do anything like that…I went to a classy school, Carter. Not that you would know what that meant."

'_Oh shit, what did I just say? Beer is having its effect…' _The younger man wagered.

For a moment he thought Blake might flip, yet he watched with surprise as instead, he nodded towards the agent with a small hint of glee. He scoffed loudly, and then caught the young man's haunting light blue eyes as he showed his almost unnaturally white teeth.

"Classy asshole. Surprise, surprise…I bet you never even got any ass, didn't you?"

'_Why does he have that effect on me? He seems to have that ability to draw things out. Those goddamn eyes. They seem like they look right into you….'_

"…I was always taught not to kiss 'n tell."

The subject ended quickly as a certain Phillie player found himself hitting a ball off into the stands. There was a combination of boos, cries and hurrahs from the crowd, and Jayden's mouth fell open as he stared at the screen, watching the Phillie player take his time rounding the bases.

"No fuck'n way!" The agent cried, and watched as Blake slammed his feet down on the floor as he jumped up, yelling the best he could with a mouth full of food.

"Yeeassshhh- 'suck it, FBI. That 'sfucking just 'appended-"

"Oh just you wait- we'll bounce back just as fast-"

Swallowing quickly, Blake shot back. "Glad to hear it- We'll see about that, Sox. We should make it interesting."

A glance towards the young ex-agent made the man squirm. In his features, he could tell the gears were churning inside his head. Working towards some greater, more perverse cause.

"Like what?" His eyebrows went up as he solemnly looked into the other man's eyes.

Blake sighed lightly and sat back against the couch, his arms once more positioned above the cushions as he sighed, raising his eyebrows in consideration. Putting a hand to his beard, he scratched his goatee in a sort of mock thought process.

"You know…My back's been feeling a little sore, it could use a bit of a…rub-down, you know?"

Raising his top lip and squinting hard towards the cop positioned there so calmly. He shifted uncomfortably, and realized that really wasn't nearly as bad as what he expected.

"What if the Sox win?"

Shrugging his shoulders coolly, he closed his eyes and knocked his head back to meet his action.

"-Then I'll give you one. Not that it's gonna happen, so I wouldn't get too excited."

Jayden let the corner of his mouth go up just a touch. Actually, he was pretty damn sure he was going to win- so excited he was.

"…Deal. You better be good with those hands, Cartah."

A small laugh came from his way, and he couldn't help but detect a hint of sarcasm. Despite the awkward air that suddenly filled the room, Norman found his eyes gliding over the other man's large, calloused hands. He didn't need to even guess how strong they were, and for a brief second he wondered how wonderful they'd feel gliding over his thighs- not his back. That brief second, he put back down into his stomach. It brought a flurry of activity to his groin. The last thing he needed was an erection right now.

"I don't know, not as good as you are with your mouth, I'd bet."

Looking back towards the screen, Norman couldn't help but grin horribly as he internally willed his precious Sox to make his night. Getting Blake to give him a back massage would be like winning some even more sinful lottery. He downed another pork rind as he shifted in his seat, a heat of excitement running through his body. Surprisingly enough, Blake looked rather calm and collected over there as he watched the game with a small smile on his face. It wasn't normal for him to look so settled and reserved- and Norman couldn't help but wonder why.

'_Christ, he got a fucking blowjob. That's why. The guy just needed some sex…And the Phillies are tied with the Red Sox. He's satisfied. As long as he's satisfied…He's like a puppy with his stomach rubbed. I wonder if his leg will do that little kick-thing?'_

A commercial began to run, and Carter fast-forwarded through back into the game itself. Ninth inning. It all came down to these next few segments between commercial breaks. For a second, he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, and looked about to see the bachground filter in and out like a TV with bad reception.

"Shit!" The agent exclaimed, looking around nervously.

"What're you bitching about now?" Carter turned, and saw that his younger companion was no longer there. The blanket lay flat, nothing underneath it. Where the younger man's clothes were tossed to the ground, they disappeared along with him.

'_Oh I don't think so…You're giving me a back rub, you eager little fuck.'_

Reaching across the table, he slipped ARI on and watched as Jayden re-appeared. Just as he had hoped, the background didn't change along with it. It now appeared as though it would only do it when he wished.

"Thanks." Jayden breathed, not enjoying the slight hiccup away from his taste of reality.

Blake looked away out of common courtesy as he got the blanket back over his form, noticing the other male was clearly modest. He wasn't sure why the kid even bothered; they both had the same fucking equipment. Surely, back in college and high school, he had to shower with the guys, right? What the hell did he do, then? On the other hand, maybe he just didn't want _him _in particular to see him so vulnerable. Currently, Blake resided on that. It made the most sense- even if he liked the idea of Jayden being a little bitch in front of his other classmates. Despite all his teasing, he seemed to at least have a pair. Not like the many recruits he'd watch go through the trials before either making it or dropping out.

When Jayden killed Williams, he didn't whimper and cry- not that he acted like a badass, either. Yet he honestly was expecting him to ball like a baby. That didn't happen. A shocked, panicked face after the incident itself, a solemn, brooding stare out the window...a sense of guilt tugging at every fiber of his being, no doubt. Not like several rookies who sobbed, wretched, puked their guts out after slaying their first human being.

"You know, for someone who hates me…You sure want me around."

Blake lazily looked back over with the ARI perched above his nose. For a moment, Jayden swore he looked like he just walked off the set from fucking Miami Vice with that goddamn 80's porn star goatee and almost-sunglasses. He kept the smart-ass comment to himself, however.

"I'm not a man to welch on a bet- and neither will you. So shut the fuck up and watch the game, puss-ass."

Rolling his shoulders, he leaned back and watched as Carter leaned forward eagerly, still wearing ARI as he squinted to see the screen better. The young agent licked his dry lips a little as he followed his example and took Carter's bag of chips, munching away without even the slightest worry about retaliation. The other man didn't even seem to notice. Washing it down with a beer, he wiped his mouth with his arm as he observed the game with a new vigor.

As before, however, his gaze went back to the man who had become his unusual, unwanted captor.

'…_Not a man to welch on a bet…' _He had said. That's why he brought him back. Not the first time, though. When he fell from the ceiling. There was no bet at that point. No bet when he wanted him to eat. Or even when he put on those glasses for the second, and third time. No reason to keep coming back.

Eyeing the man in curiosity, Jayden's right lip twitched a smirk,

'_Bullshit.' _


	8. The Angel And The Gambler

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, and sex between two men. (In later chapters.)**

Author's Note: **Again, sorry for the wait. I do indeed have crazy, wild summers. Not only that, I have this project with a new 55 gl aquarium. I love my fish. ^^ It was a long chapter, too. I like to pump one of those out every now and again, feel me? I promise this will start moving along faster, too. I tend to take FOREVER to get to teh sex, I just love exploring a character's interactions and psyche, to me that's the sexiest part of all, in a way. Okay, well...blowjobs ARE fun...And penetration...Okay, enjoy this. Sex will be coming soon, I assure you. I wanna write it about as much as you wanna read it. C:**

* * *

**_"Bow down,  
Sell your soul to me._****_  
I will set you free,  
Pacify your demons.  
Bow down,  
Surrender unto me,  
Submit infectiously,  
Sanctify your demons.  
Into abyss,  
You don't exist,  
Cannot resist, the Judas kiss."_**

**_-_**_Metallica, 'The Judas Kiss'_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

The commentators seemed to be practically screaming their brains out at the amazing, just- about- unexpected development. They said it was unprecedented, amazing, a moment that would go down for years as an once-in-a-lifetime event. A story both sides of the fence would hand down for generations.

It was a tie.

There was overtime, of course. It was a standstill and completely pointless- both teams struggling to outdo the other with horrible screw ups on either side, outdoing one another's chances to gain a point to the scoreboard. It had started to rain a little, the lights flashing on as the sun went down and the game wore on. Both dominant, alpha males (though one would swear one would have to be alpha, the other omega) sat on the edges of the couch cushions as they watched and waited for a score. For a chance to humiliate the other by making them engage in the homoerotic behavior. Finally, the game was declared a tie to both their frustrations.

Blake bit his lip and made a grunt in his throat. He had long since taken off ARI, and as before the snot-nosed brat remained.

"Now what?" Jayden let out with a sigh, thinking now that surely, he'd call off the bet. It was a disappointment, he was stating to lavish the concept of Blake having to act like his little masseuse.

Considering just that, the older man stayed hunched over as he eyed the man with a sort of contempt, like the tie was his entire fault.

"What did you have in mind?"

Jayden shrugged only partially, haunting blue eyes scanning the grey carpet below as he sought out an answer that wasn't awkward.

"We could call it off…I mean it's only the first game, the second is on tomorrow, right?"

"You're not fucking getting out of _this_ one, Norman... You little weasel." He pointed in an objectifying manner at the man still in a neck tie, "We had a bet, remember?"

"Yeah, if one or the other _won, _you asshole." He corrected. "-But both did."

"Yeah, and?"

"-So now it's different!" Jayden yelled, but then bit his lip, suddenly getting at what he was driving at.

"What'r you saying? We both-"

"You do my back- and I'll do yours. I think that's fair."

Blake didn't like that compromise any more then Jayden did- yet he wanted to humiliate the little shit so much, it would be worth his own emasculation along with it. He wasn't doing any "sensual oils" or anything like that, though. Though he'd have to admit he wish he had some for the kid to use, it'd be fun to get treated like the king he was for once.

There was a flicker of disgust on the other man's face for a moment, watching as Jayden's expression softened and he nodded, scratching the back of his neck.

"…Why do you get to go first?"

"My house, asshole. Simple logic, common courtesy- don't be a fuckwit about it."

Norman squinted in his typical fashion, mentally kicking himself in the ass for taking the bet in the first place. He wasn't a gambler; tried it once and hated it. Casual bets with co-workers even tended to be swept away as being "childish", something below him to be glanced at as an activity for low-life's. However, he would never say that aloud.

He couldn't help it, though. The Phillies weren't exactly a quality team, and the fact that they scored at all was a miracle as far as he was concerned. It was in the bag! However, it appeared that the two teams came up at odds with each other. Much like the two men that now sat in that steamy living room on a Sunday night. The young man couldn't help but notice the subtle irony in the two home teams from their own hometowns playing each other on that particular night- though he would have to say it was an irony he rather liked.

"Fine." The ex-agent finally sighed out. It was obvious he wasn't happy with the deal, yet Carter seemed more then willing to make the plan work.

The older man tilted his lip vindictively, his eyes gently smiling in response as he looked about the room. Now the sun had fully set, the rays disappeared and were instead swallowed by an empty blackness from beyond the windows. Just like that, another Sunday shot in the ass. Before he'd know it, he'd be back to work tomorrow morning. Continuing to clean up the loose ends of the absolute cluster-fuck that was the Origami Killer case.

"Shit. I can't believe that- a tie? _A tie_? Goddamn-"

"When Wakefield got called out, that's what did it-"

"No, no…" Blake shook his head, irritated that the kid seriously thought his team had an upper hand.

"…So did Molina, _and _Howard. At most it was on equal standing-"

"Goddamn it, Cartah. Can't you everah compromise with 'enethin?" Norman had to at least admit he rather liked the fact they were having a rather normal argument, about sports no less. Nope, no sexual tension here!

"Oh, I can compromise plenty. I'll let you know when you're not full of shit, when that happens…Yeah, I'll compromise with you." Blake groaned and reached to his crotch as he scratched it harshly. Jayden was fascinated by this for a second, then looked away as he realized he was staring a little too long.

'_So much for that.'_

Standing up, Carter reached forward and began to pick up the bags of chips, and Norman's near-empty bag of pork rinds. He gazed over and watched as the young agent put his hand up in a fist, covering his mouth as he let loose a little burp, covering most of it up with his mouth to be polite.

"Excuse me."

Nodding in recognition, Blake continued the clean up operation as he piled a few cans up into his arms. The other man made a move to get up to help, but he received a harsh glance from the lieutenant, and sat back down.

"No- sit down and rest. I don't need you passing out before you're little _performance_."

He watched as the kid seemed to give him a look of irritation, his eyes narrowing and focusing towards the wall to his left. That look spoke volumes, not requiring a single word as it told the other man he was being forced into submission. For a arrogant Leo such as himself, the very idea liquidated his pride and felt it weep through his pale skin. Oh, it was _wonderful. _That look was absolutely priceless, a work of art really.

"When do you want to-" There was a pause, and for a second Jayden _almost _said "fuck" -it made him tingle all over and go dry in the mouth. No, he did _not _want to spread his legs, especially not to this man. Norman himself only ever was on top. Not that he had a lot of sex even before his career in the federal bureau of investigations-when he did, he desired to be in control of the situation. Something told the agent he wouldn't be in control if Blake ever did want to take this a step further.

"…You know…" He finished, feeling his body lurch at the thought.

He watched as Carter threw some things in the trash, others being placed upon the kitchen counter to be put away. Looking back, he caught the kid's glance then looked back.

"Later." He sighed, "It's too early. I don't need to get tired this time in the night."

Looking back, Norman focused on the television's loud post-game sport's coverage. He looked towards the remote, scooting over as he grabbed it and returned to his current seat.

"So…What do we do until then?"

Carter looked back and watched the top of the brunette's head, saw it bob slightly as he wrestled to sit in a more comfortable position on the leather sofa. For a moment, he actually considered his question. What did he normally do on a Sunday afternoon? Oh yeah, that's right…Work. When he got back home, he usually just watched TV until it was time to go to sleep. Though he swore last night was the last time in quite a _long time _that he got a full night's slumber. He'd wake up usually in the middle of the night, and was too stressed with thoughts of the day before to go back to sleep. It only added to his weathered appearance, the bags under his eyes growing by the year.

"What am I, your fucking entertainment? Am I suppos' to dance for 'ya? See what's on."

Glancing up, he saw Jayden give him a dirty look out of the corner of his eye. Obviously, not the answer the indecisive little shit wanted to hear.

"See what's on the pay channels." He mumbled, then walked hurriedly out of the room and into the hallway of his small home. Norman could have sworn the ground shook as he walked.

Sighing, now that the other man was gone, he could at least get up. Stripping the soft, red blanket from his lap then getting up from his seat. Arching his back, he curled his spine and stretched his muscles as far as they'd go. His toes and balls of his feet pushed his body up as he reached his hands towards the ceiling then let them fall down to his sides. Looking behind him to make sure Blake didn't return yet, he reached backwards and scratched his ass. God, he'd been holding that in forever.

Looking around, he finally began to study the older man's house. Now that he didn't feel prying eyes upon him from every angle. He heard a toilet flush in the background, and realized what exactly Blake seemed so pissy and concerned about as he rushed away a few minutes ago. Looking back, he took notice of the soft blue walls, just a few hairs away from plain white. A ceiling fan spun away on low above him, a round light from the center providing most of the room's visibility at this point. A deer head gazed at him from the right wall, and on its five-point antlers hung a pair of keys. They looked old and smudged, and Norman had guessed they weren't used for a good while.

"My first buck…Well, my _only_ buck…."

Jayden jolted, and his heart hammered away inside his ribcage as he turned his head to watch Carter nonchalantly walk back into his kitchen and living room. He only but cast a glance at the younger man as he walked in, noticing he was standing upright, and could see the fine contours of the kid's ass through his underwear. It didn't inspire any arousing thoughts so much as he simply took notice, and looked away in the most casual heterosexual way he could.

"Oh, I'm sorry…Uh- I just didn't see you as the hunting type-"

"I wasn't. I never was. My old man was, though. He saw it as a ritual to 'becoming a man' Fucking redneck…"

Parting his lips as he looked back, the other man was now only a few feet to his side, peering at the head along with him.

"If you hated it so much, why'd you keep it?"

Watching with curiosity, the other man shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head back as if examine the dead animal's steely gaze.

"What, and just throw it away? It makes a nice key rack…"

Something soft was forced into his arms, and he looked down in surprise to find Carter handing him a pair of black sweat pants, folded neatly and obviously just out of the dryer. They were toasty warm, almost so much that it was too hot to handle.

"Here- I don't feel like staring at your scrawny legs all day."

Norman found himself caught between being offended and being thankful, so he reached up and took the pants, giving him an annoyed look, but issuing a "Thanks" out of common courtesy. Carter walked away without another word, back into his bedroom it appeared this time. Taking the sweatpants by the elastic waist, he let the rest fall down and stretch out as he admired the size. Easily big enough for him, in fact he'd go so far as to say they wore the same basic pant size. He slipped them on, one leg and then the other, simply loving the warmth from the dryer as he slipped them on and pulled them up over his waist.

Thinking back to the deer head, Norman knew that Carter hadn't told him the whole truth. There was far more then that to his desire to keep around an old, dusty trophy like that. Jayden himself had shot and killed several crows when he was a child with a small BB gun. He actually did mean to do it- yet he felt bad instantly after the third or fourth one. Ever since then, he never did it again. The gun got taken away from him when his parents found out. He could actually imagine Blake's father being the old-fashioned sort, taking his son out and teaching him how to "be a man" and that the only way to do it was to take another life.

Yet there was more to that then his little "makes a good key rack" cock-and-bull story. Had he wanted to remember his father? Something about Blake made him think this wasn't the case at all. Jayden could read people fairly easily, even before he became a psychologist. That particular education only making him better at it. His profile of the older man was growing by the minute, gathered from the way he carried himself, talked, behaved, and even the way his eyes moved in their orbits. A highly dominant male with psychotic, possibly manic-depressive or bipolar tendencies. He had to admit he hadn't seen Blake's lows yet, only his 'highs', his quick temper tantrums and general inability to sympathize with his victims.

It spoke to Norman as a man who had a rocky childhood, and by 'rocky', he was using a rather generalized, polite way to say he thought Carter was treated like shit. Yet he wasn't the first and only- so Norman's sympathy only went so deep. He could only feel so sorry for the other man. Children were abused everyday, but never turn out like him. Actually, Norman thought back to the two possible powder kegs that formed a serial killer. One was upbringing, the other was genetics. Genetic meaning, usually, a mental disorder passed down through the generations. Not always visible, sometimes it lurked in gene pools until it found the right trigger and reared it's vicious head. Laying in wait like a predator after it's own kind.

Actually, it was Blake's behavior that helped stir his suspicion of him possibly being the Origami Killer. He didn't toy with it long, and when he went out to question the cop in his own precinct, he found himself shot down in flames with the realization that he simply didn't have enough evidence to convict the lieutenant of being a child killer. Looking back, he wished he had taken it a step further…He'd still be alive! If only because his ass would have been sent back to Washington quicker then the door swinging shut in Perry's office.

'_Never would have had the time, anyway…' _Jayden mentally kicked himself in the ass for seriously even considering Blake as a suspect. _'He's a police lieutenant. Never would have been able to set all that up with his busy life. Not creative enough, either.'_

Continuing to gaze around the room, he took note of the pictures sitting on a small shelf in the corner. He glanced back at the hallway, seeing Blake doing something in his room that must have been rather consuming, seeing as he hadn't come out for a good five minutes. Walking closer, he spied a picture of an older man that looked so eerily like Carter himself, he had to squint and look closer to try and see if the man simply kept pictures of himself in frames about his house. But no- this man looked happy, and wore a causal pair of blue jeans and a white shirt that clung to his torso. Not to mention, he had had three kids next to him, two boys and a girl.

The girl looked seven or so, the left boy more like ten, the other easily in his early teens. Both of them seemed to carry their father's looks, only the little girl had what appeared to be a head of golden hair that flowed to her shoulders in a straight, curtain-style haircut. Yet she had her father's eyes, a trait that seemed to be very dominant in this particular gene pool. Both kids honestly looked quite happy to have their pictures taken, the little boy in his father's lap as his hand rested on the back of his girl, whom had a large smile on her face. The young teenage boy sat to thee right, his arm draped around his father's shoulder with a hint of a smile on his lips. He was an attractive young man with a sharp face and lean body.

It was actually very surreal- it looked like an ideal version of Blake himself. Only a very few amount of things, like face shape, and the way the man wore his hair signified any real difference.

'_A brother.' _Jayden told himself. _'Somewhere bizarro-world Blake is running around with a wonderful family, happy as a clam. Never would have guessed that…'_

Another picture to the right of that one, a longer frame that sat horizontally on its side, showed the two together. Now that Jayden saw the differences between the two side-to-side, they looked only slightly less then twins. Carter was much rougher in appearance to his older brother, and if he didn't know better from the increase in gray from the other's hair, he'd swear that Carter was the older one. His unbalanced, asymmetrical face and baggy eyes showing his hard life on the surface. The brother didn't have this, and looked more like a purified, untainted version. The other 'Carter' had his arm wrapped around the other one, amber beer bottles in hand as they looked at the camera. Blake looked slightly irritated, but smirked for the picture, regardless.

Jayden's psychological profile of Blake was still coming right along, configuring it right under his nose. Everything from the way he talked, moved, even drank his beer. It was the younger man's natural talent, and it never shut itself off. Not even when he was dead. He could fathom that as a child, Carter Blake had a rather fearsome set of parents, at least in terms of a father, though he'd seen cases where mothers could be just as bad.

So why was Carter's brother so untouched? Surely, if he profile was right, they'd seem about the same in personality. Right? Christ, he didn't know for sure. He had seen some cases where criminals came from a broken home, serial killers with a deadly psyche hidden underneath cold, collective demeanors. It was true what they said- that the quiet ones where the ones to watch out for. Aggressive people like Carter tended to unleash their demons on a daily basis, instead of keeping them inside. You never saw the quiet ones coming until you caught them with a body gutted, bleeding in their shower stall-

"You know what's a real shitter?" He heard Blake's voice cut through the fog in his head.

He was standing in his kitchen as he fired off the words, the sound of dishes clanking in the sink, as he seemed to be washing them.

"Same guy that did that? The deer head? Fucking…Found him with a whole bunch of bodies in his upstairs bedroom. Shit you not. Ever heard of 'The Taxidermist'?"

For a moment, Jayden was too stunned to talk, then he quickly realized what he meant. Yeah- a good year or so ago. Right out of Philly, not that he remembered all the details. After all, he was a busy man. It was too grandiose and macabre a story to forget, or ignore completely. Four bodies…Or rather, four skins of young ladies draped over mannequins, positioned according to Leland White's sick fantasies. If he remembered correctly, he was cut to bits by the one Madison Paige with a chainsaw. Quite the way to go.

"Wait…You were there? At The Taxidermist case?"

For some reason, Jayden didn't even think about it. Of course! Why wouldn't he? Carter was the top police lieutenant for Philadelphia's homicide division. Still, it seemed odd to Jayden that he was involved in such a huge, unusual murder investigation without ever hearing him in the news reports.

"Yeah, that fine piece of ass, what's her name…Fucking…Paige, yeah, the same one that saved Mars' ass at the warehouse. The one that almost ran me over with her chopper…She got all the credit for that shit. Never mind we were pinning the Origami case on him as it was- we would have found him sooner or later. Instead, she had to stick her nose in 'it and kill the son of a bitch. Now we'll never get to find out where he dumped the 'rest of em. Or how many other girls he killed."

Jayden tilted his head- he'd already forgotten to ask Blake about how the case was going. Normally he'd be a bit more obsessed with the case's outcome, yet being dead took first priority in this particular instance.

"How's the-"

"The guy was just a fuck'n kid, too…" Carter had started to talk before Norman even opened his mouth, cancelling him out.

"We were about the same age. His dad was helping him- Shit, it was so fucked up when we found out. He looked so normal, never would have guessed he'd turn out to be so fucked in the head…"

A loud clang, and Jayden winced, walking in his direction when he realized how rude he was being by not offering to help. By the time he got in, though, he noticed the other man was already done. You didn't have many dishes to wash when you were alone. He piled them into a small pile on top of a beige towel on the end of the sink so they could drip-dry. That bothered him- Norman was anything but a neat man, yet he was a bit OCD with things just being let to sit without being tended to properly.

"I'll dry those for you." He said, watching Carter turn around and give him an up-and-down stare.

"Knock yourself out."

Jayden snuck in next to the salt-and-pepper-haired man. Brushing shoulders with him and sending a small bit of a chill up to his neck. He stiffened, but went on as though nothing had happened. Glancing over, he watched as Blake finished washing his hands, walking over to the cabinet as he opened the doors with a very slight squeak to the hinges.

Hurriedly, Norman compensated for Carter's fast work, and dried a dish off with a hand-towel, handing the blue-glazed plate over towards him. Putting them in the cabinet one-by-one, the five plates and a few, short, stout drinking glasses were done. Reacting out of instinct, Norman grabbed the towel and headed off towards where his clothes pantry would be, then stopped.

"Where do you put-"

"It's not even that dirty, put it back by the sink." He muttered, walking past him and putting a hand on his shoulder out of accomplishment.

"Thanks, by the way."

A bit taken aback, he swallowed as he watched him walk by, towards his couch as he took a seat.

"…Sure, no problem."

Walking back and putting the towel back on its small rack, he scanned the small kitchen for anything he could do to make his presence less bothersome. It was rather bland, certainly more so then his own kitchen back in Washington. It was obvious to Jayden that the man's favorite color was blue, just about everything being that color in one shade or another. At least the cupboards were white, small windows of glass inside to display the dishes that sat within. The counter was a slate black, made of the cheaper wood with a stainless steel sink inside and to the right. There was a large white fridge to the right, magnets holding up pieces of paper of various importance.

A large magnetic calendar was taking up the top portion, where the freezer would be. A set of black, red and blue dry-erase markers positioned to the side. Several dates were marked, a doctor's appointment at the end of the month. An oil change in the middle of next week. A few meetings with people whose names eluded him. On a few rare days, almost never weekends, were marked "OFF", one of which was today. Workaholic, much? Even Jayden found himself having the weekends off, and he thought _he_ was bad…

Squinting closer, he noticed a few credit bill payments applied with magnets. A Visa, a Discover…And the amounts were all pretty low. His own bills would be covered by his life insurance; at least the US government didn't fuck around with things like that. Scanning to the right, a few numbers on post-its stuck to the top, some names male, some female. The female ones had a smiley face on them. He smiled at this a bit, booty-calls? Literally? They looked old, the paper dotted with clear spots that appeared to be grease stains, the paper from below beginning to curl.

There were a couple articles from a newspaper sticking up, one for the Origami Killer, another a yellowed newspaper ad from years back. LIEUTENANT BREAKS CASE plastered on top, a picture of Perry with Blake imbedded in the center, Perry's hand planted firmly on his shoulder. He didn't feel the need to stand there and read it, but from the rather happy expression on his face, he could tell it was a proud moment in the man's life.

Then there was one picture of a younger man this time. His light brown eyes shown under heavy, tired brows. Norman only noticed this because the flash seemed to illuminate the irises, displaying an almost catatonic image. Like a lifetime lived in fear. Possessing the same hair as Blake, course, black and easily parted on each side. He was only a touch thinner and his smile was subtle. Looking into the camera as he sat on some steps, he seemed to smirk at the camera in that eerily familiar way.

'_Another one?'_

"Who's this?" Norman found himself asking, already regretting bringing it up.

There was a pause, then he heard the leather of the couch shift as he looked up to see Blake positioning himself in order to see better. His eyes narrowed only slightly as he saw Norman staring at the picture of his younger brother. Someone he'd help fund under the table ever since he was forced out of his house when he turned nineteen.

He'd consider him a freeloader; if it wasn't for the fact he knew Lawrence had some real problems. Unlike his older brother, he had been around to see the full force of his father's abilities to find all sorts of ways to harm other human beings. He'd had a hard time holding a job, let alone a decent carrier.

"My younger brother…" Carter drawled out, looking back towards the TV. He had hoped that was the end of the conversation-

"What's his name?"

'_Shut the fuck up Norman, it's dead and buried, I don't need to explain-'_

"Larry. He lives up in Reading…I don't really like to talk about him."

"Oh…"

Norman submitted, putting his hands in the sweatpants' pockets. He felt a stab in his heart, not literally, but it might has well been. Blake's tone had been in warning, and he knew better then to push further. Sure, he could have been more pressing. Could have asked him why he was so precarious about his brother- yet didn't. He'd heard Blake mad before, heard him on the verge of practically murdering him. Yet there was no doubt that he would actually do it if he pressed this particular issue. It was a tense air in the room, an actual frightening edge that told Jayden he had asked too much.

"Sorry, I just…I just miss my own, that's all. Haven't seen by brothers in a while."

The lieutenant didn't respond, instead he flipped through the channels like a mindless robot looking for nothing in particular. Swallowing his fear, the agent made his way closer and looked down at the ARI as it sat haphazardly on the coffee table. Biting his bottom lip, he looked from them and back up to Blake as he analyzed his odd, forced relax stance. His right hand holding up his head as it sat on the armrest, the other hand flipping through the channels.

"I didn't mean to upset-"

"Shut up- I fucking mean it. Sit down."

Jayden went to open his mouth, then gave up, instead plopping down in the spot Blake had sat during the game. Sure, he was mad, he was irritated, he wanted to yell. In fact, it took everything possible for him not to push the issue further. He didn't deserve to be talked to like that- he was only asking about his brother…In a respectable way, he thought.

There was a small silence, then Carter looked up towards the clock, noticing it was only twenty-after ten. He knew the little massage would make him too tired, and he'd probably want to fall asleep right afterwards. Though he assumed that he could also just turn in early, get a good start tomorrow.

"I…" Jayden started, then looked towards Blake as if to ask permission, then noticed his face had calmed somewhat.

"I…just wanted to ask…What ever happened with the Origami Killer-"

A small "bring" emitted from Blake's bedroom, and like that he was interrupted again. Perking up, Blake looked backward in a whale-eye fashion, then glanced back to Jayden as he gave him a judgmental glare as he seemed to be trying to tell him that he "had to get that".

Another ring, and he watched as Blake got up and jogged towards his bedroom. He defiantly was one not to ever let his job at work, and as he made his way towards his room, he stubbed his toe harshly on the doorway. Jayden even winced at the sound, the collision of bone, flesh and wooden doorway very audible and painful to the ears.

"Aw _fuck! Hello!_?" He breathed out with a huge bought of delayed pain and frustration, simultaneously answering the phone.

Norman couldn't stop the laugh from bursting forth, and not a cute laugh. It was loud and obnoxious, and he could see a glint of Carter's annoyed stare from the back of his room. Putting a hand to his mouth to stifle it, he got up and edged towards the door to hear their conversation better. Carter turned around and looked towards his nightstand, noting the time.

"Stubbed my toe...Yeah" A few minutes past, and it was obvious that he was listening to something of great interest, nodding occasionally "…The Kramer place? No shit…No, no we'll shoot for tomorrow…Yeah, I know. Fucking weather let up, at least…Yeah, first thing…Shit, what a mess…No…Yeah, fucking tie, can't believe that shit…Yeah, next time…Yeah, Gary, too…"

Blake walked away from his bedroom, moving towards the living room and giving the other man a quick glance as he reached his hand out and seemed to wordlessly ask for the remote. Though Norman didn't quite get this at first and looked at him strangely as the more muscular, threatening man above him held the cell phone to his ear, doing his best to keep up the conversation without speaking to the other. Irritated, Blake quickly shot his arm out and just snatched the remote from his hands, in which Jayden stink-eyed him as he moved towards the TV.

"…Say it's on now?…Yeah, channel six?"

The TV moved from the Video On Demand movie selection screen to the local news, where a blond-haired woman stood with a microphone in front of the Kramer mansion.

"Right…Yeah, I know, like fucking vultures…Hey, I can see you…"

Norman watched as he saw the gray-clothed detective walk out into the front lawn, holding a cell-phone to his ear as he seemed to now be aware there was a camera on him. He waved a little, which made both of the men give a short laugh in their throat.

"Ha- yeah I see you, shit-head. You _trying _to look like a little twat, or what?"

The friendly wave turned to a middle finger.

"…Much better. Yeah, that's gonna go down real well with- Haha- yeah I know, who gives a shit, right? Perry thinks his shit 'don't stink, anyway."

Another pause, and Norman watched as Ash walked off-screen, talking away as Carter listened.

"Uh-huh…Yeah, sounds about right."

Silence, Norman strained his ears the best he could as he tried to listen in on their conversation.

"Christ, this shit-hole's deeper then I thought….Right, well, I'll leave you to get back to that cluster-fuck you got going on…Haha- yeah, asshole. Real sure. See you tomorrow…"

Hanging up, he pulled the phone away and clapped it shut. The two halves neatly smacking against one another as he flung it onto the table. Pointing to the TV with the clicker, he turned the volume up and took a seat next to the agent without much thought or a single degree of hesitation.

"There was a massacre at this rich asshole's place…Ever hear of Kramer Construction?"

Jayden considered, then remembered seeing a commercial for it on the local channel as he watched this very same news program when he first arrived in Philadelphia. They seemed incredibly professional, the commercial itself being a step above the normal low-level of quality of the average local business. Kramer himself didn't star in the ad, but for some reason Jayden anticipated he'd be seeing plenty of the older man's face soon enough.

"Yeah, I saw an ad when I got here."

"Well, it doesn't matter now. He's dead, and so are all his body guards. Guy fuckin' had over eighteen of the goons crawling all over the estate. They're all dead, every last one. Shot clean every time. They traced the bullet to a gun that was supposed to be impounded for evidence. They think it was Scott's…It's starting to unravel, now."

The cop looked towards the other man, watching his mouth part in slight surprise, his gaze looking out towards the TV as the coverage ended and went back to the anchor at his desk, Glenn Sanders. The guy always crept him out, he had some weird, lifeless eyes…

"Did they find him?"

Blake nodded, watching as the agent across from him followed his movement, nodding a little in understanding.

"…Turns out he was getting close to the mother of one of his victims- she found out about his little secret and shot him dead last night. Clean shot. She'll probably be let go. I don't know what jury could convict her, if you ask me. Hell, _I'll_ testify for her…"

Getting up, making a grumbling noise as he did so, Jayden squinted in his usual way as he considered this.

"You would?"

"Yeah, 'lie if I have to. I would have did it myself if I'd seen him."

Remaining silent, Norman bit his bottom lip as he squinted towards the left, analyzing some unimportant shelf in the corner. The agent knew he should have been happier. His own murderer (or he had assumed he was killed by the man in his final moments, it was a reasonable assessment as far as he was concerned) was dead, yet his own desire to right the wrongs he saw his whole time in Philly made the situation bittersweet. He should have been arrested, questioned, trialed and put away. It was the law, and his whole life had been about following said law to the very letter. Liberty, order, justice…democracy. Things he was always taught were the most important things in life; things he genuinely still believed in.

'_Well, at least I know what happened. I wonder how well they knew each other?'_

Watching Blake make his way to his bedroom, and he once again heard the sound of some rummaging around.

"Did…you know Scott Shelby?" He yelled, hoping he wouldn't cause another awkward moment.

There was a pause in the rummaging, and Norman's hackles rose as he anticipated another harsh smack of intolerance from the master of his reality.

"Sure did. Used to be partners. If it wasn't for him I'd be dead."

He said the last few words in a huff, and sounded to be lifting something up. Norman looked back as he watched, and took notice of the man's strong arm muscles flex beneath his skin. He could tell even back on the Origami Killer case that he had a good set of guns beneath his sleeves. That didn't mean he wasn't un-expectantly impressed by his physique. His biceps were round, and the bulged as he moved the box to a top shelf. Pushing it in, Jayden took another notice of his subtly-thick arm hair covering his forearms.

A grunt, and Blake slid the box further back. Resting back on his heels, he looked back towards Jayden, whom met his gaze with an almost bored look.

"Shit, really?"

"It's a long story, everyone on the force is expected to do everything they can…But Scott…" He paused, watching as Blake reached up and ran his hand through his hair in thought.

"Scott actually…Cared. He could have chased the guy, the son of a bitch that stabbed me- but he stayed with me until the ambulance came. EMS said if he wasn't keeping me awake, I probably would have croaked right there." He made a gesture with his hand, indicating a "cut" to the left to the right.

"…And you'd still shoot him-"

"-If he wasn't already dead? Right 'betwin the eyes. Dead center."

The smirk on his lips mirrored the smirk in his voice, and Norman just gave him the strangest look. A tilt to his eyes, his brows furrowed and generally confused. _'Shoot a man that saved his life?'_

"Really? Wouldn't even…attempt to take him in for questi'neen?"

"Nope." Blake breathed out along with a sigh, putting his hands on his hips as he moved from current stance, back towards his bathroom.

"Why?" The agent questioned, getting up and walking around the couch to ask him. He was starting to unravel the mystery that was Blake, and it was getting interesting.

"Well, you see there, Norman…I don't do real well when someone decides to fuck with my trust, you know?"

He spoke with a hurt in his voice, and Norman felt actually rather frightened. Like he was treading into deadly, forbidden territory. So, he tread lightly, following the man to he entered his bathroom in his connecting bedroom.

"So, when Shelby decided to fuck with me, fuck with my men, fuck with the children in this city? Yeah, he knew what was going to happen if I ever found out. He knew it just as much as anybody ever could. You fuck with me -I fuck back."

Norman felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and yet couldn't help but let a nervous laugh make it's way out. Leaning on the doorway of the lieutenant's bathroom door, he scanned the small, white-stuccoed room with a large shower stall. A few clothes sat in a pile on the right against the wall. A blue button-up, long sleeved shirt, and his pair of black slacks. The smell of sweat vaguely hung in the air, strangely enough it wasn't entirely unpleasant. It smelled instead of masculinity.

"…Fuck back?" The younger man posed, smiling wide as he watched him lean over his small sink, getting out his tooth brush and applying the toothpaste.

"Yeah- that goes for you too, Norman."

His face drained of color as he looked away, hearing the other man put the toothbrush in his mouth and start brushing away vigorously. Obviously, he didn't mean it in a sexual way in the previous statement, and it certainly wasn't meant that way towards him. Or wasn't it? Was he seeing something that wasn't really there?

Only two men were in Jayden's life, that didn't include all favors he'd given out- but ones he was intimate with. They didn't mean much, and after he'd slept with them and got bored, they parted ways. Ever since he started his job at the FBI, he'd hadn't had sex for years. Too much work, not enough play. Masturbating was a rare chore then a moment of pleasure, something he used to relieve stress more then gain some sort of gratification.

Looking down at the floor, he felt his face return color, yet still hid beneath his pale, ghostly skin. He hoped desperately he wouldn't have anymore withdrawal symptoms. They could rise to the point where it would be impossible to gain relief. What the hell was he supposed to do? He didn't have any tripto on him, there was some at his house…Shit, that was it! When Blake went to D.C, he could get it back-

'_Then what? It will only last so long. How you going to get more?'_

Shaking his head, he sighed and looked away as the tyrant of a man opened his medicine cabinet to rummage through it. Norman gave him some privacy, walking towards his bedroom and looking about. The room was a terra-cotta color, and lit in a low, amber light by a white-domed glass fixture from the ceiling fan above. He was actually quite surprised it was rather nice- not dull or bare-bones. Not really resembling a bachelor pad like the other places he's visited.

Before he could look over it further, he heard Blake walk towards him. Immediately, he felt his hair stand on end as the electricity that was Carter Blake filled the room. He gave Norman a sideways glance as he walked right on by, bee-lining towards his nightstand where he appeared to be setting his alarm clock. Jayden noticed he had taken his shirt off, and swallowed as his throat went dry. Looking away before he could take his appearance all in, he had a strangely attractive build for a man his age. A shiver went up his spine, and he took a deep breath.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road." It came out more in irritation, not a hint of lust in his voice. More a chore then the act of comfort and humiliation it was meant to be.

Turning around, the older man eyed the kid as he looked away from his shirtless physique. Almost teasingly, he reached up and scratched the top left of his chest. A small lopsided smirk formed on his lips, and a small flutter of excitement developed in his stomach.

"Don't get any ideas, either. This isn't a date."

Walking towards him, he watched the kid visibly shudder and take a few steps back. Taking his seat on the edge of the bed, he rolled his shoulders in their sockets and gave Norman a squint and a nod, trying to look up into his unsure eyes from a few feet away.

"Well? I'm waiting, FBI."

A few seconds went by that felt more like minutes, and Norman followed suit as he rolled his own shoulders, taking a deep breath and walking behind the lieutenant, trying not to look at him. Even making eye contact with the other man would have been too much at the moment. He reached up and decided to take Blake's advice and take off his tie, loosening it as he pulled it off his neck as fast as he could. Flinging it to the side, he felt the bed dip down substantially as he put one knee onto the mattress and hear the springs squeak.

'_God, only Carter could think of something this fucked up. He's just doing this shit to embarrass me…I should have never took this bet., I'm such an idiot! Shit- wait, no he's gotta do my back, too. I bet he does it half-ass…"_

Blake craned his neck backward as he tried to catch a glimpse of the hot-shot agent being his little masseuse for the evening. Oh, this was going to be classic. For a brief minute he considered if this made him gay- then pushed it aside. Who gave a fuck? It was satisfying, besides, it wasn't _meant_ to be sexual. He found it fun to humiliate the shit out of the agent while he tended to his needs. Even if it meant he'd be doing the same thing after he was done. Though he would be harsh, unforgiving, practically breaking his back in the effort. Nancy boy, here? He would demand a quality job- he looked like he could barely even apply enough pressure to satisfy him.

Jayden hesitated behind Blake for good reason. He sat there on his knees as his lips drew into a straight line. His hands lay on the bed, standing on all fours as he moved himself forward in shifting motions, hearing the bed respond to every movement. Blake's back was like a map- covered in marks and scars from just about every shape. There were a few moles here and there- some he'd swear would be cancerous if it wasn't for the fact they looked about as old as the man himself. There were large, smooth patches that were obviously scars. Some were large, irregular circles. Others were lines that came in all sorts of varying lengths. There looked to be a few indentations that Norman recognized as bullet scars, including one not far from where his heart and lungs would be.

The biggest, most identifying feature where his muscles. They curved and bulged from his skin, the epidermis itself being rather taught for a man his age. It looked slightly paler then his face, neck and arms, but he appeared to have more a of a natural, slightly darker skin tone. It There were no bulges of fat, no loose skin, only the expected, roughened and callous surface one would expect from a seasoned cop.

Squinting, Norman looked to his right shoulder. There was a tattoo there, one he hadn't noticed until that very second. It was of a large, powerful brown pit bull with cuffs hanging from it's mouth, and a collar about it's neck- chain broken in a dramatic fashion. It's exposed teeth clutched around the links of the cuffs, snarling and dripping with blood. It's legs were out in a running motion, like it was leaping towards the observer. The words "CHAINED DOWN" were above the dog, and "BROKE FREE" were below in intricate letters.

'_Hol-ee shit.' _Jayden blinked, his face stoic as he noticed how faded and worn the ink looked. Small strands of hair grew out if it, almost masking the vicious art entirely. Then he noticed another on his left bicep, and craned his neck that way to see it. That one was a scorpion, albeit smaller and looked even older. Leaning back, he scanned his body for more ink, somehow finding the whole situation to be rather amusing. To his right he finally noticed the most recent- less faded then the others. A badge with it's numbers clearly visible, an eagle above it, clutching it with it's talons as it's wings were outspread. It was large and took up part of his bicep. Yet it was only in black and white, and had several "strikes" below it, about four, in the shape of crudely drawn Xs.

Blake craned his neck as he felt himself irritated at the small wait- he made a small growl in his throat as he tried to see what the fuck was taking so long.

"What, you jerking off back there? What I'd tell you about that?"

Jayden squinted, scowling comfortably now that he didn't have to worry about the other man seeing him react.

"I was just, uh…Your tattoos. I always thought law enforcement looked down on those sorts of things."

A small shrug became apparent on the other man's muscular shoulders, and he sighed loudly as he seemed rather impatient that the backrub wasn't currently taking place.

"Start 'workin and I'll start 'talkin."

Looking forward, he heard a sigh behind him in response as he heard the bed shift. A pair of strong, soft hands found their way onto his shoulders, and he tensed in response. He let out a moan that traveled high to low, and a full tremble made it's way from his strong shoulders to his large, thick toes. They curled a little, then sunk into the floor as they took up his socks. _'Should take those off. They're dirty as fuck.'_

Then those oddly soft, pleasant hands sunk into his flesh as he grabbed his muscles- moving his thumb and forefingers in just the right way as he sought to manipulate the sinew in such a manner as loosen it, untie it from it's hard, taught nature. Another moan of satisfaction filled his throat, rumbling out as Jayden felt it transpire through the air and into his own chest. It made a chill creep up the back of his neck, but he swallowed, as to put it out of his mind and forced on.

The man's voice sounded frightening even when being comforted, unwound. It felt like he was massaging a tiger deep in slumber, waiting for it to awaken and rip his arm off. Jayden shook at the image, flashing through as he envisioned Blake doing the very same, in a terrifying way he didn't put it past the psychopathic lieutenant to turn on him like the why fire hops it's way out of an open furnace, taking a building down in frightening minutes. Reducing it to ash as it burns and cripples everything it touches. Yet it never happened, instead, Jayden focused on making the crazed cop in front of him feel fantastic- in hopes it would soothe the savage beast. Douse the fire. Satisfy his needs so that his own could be shortly thereafter.

His skin was rough, not dry or unpleasant, ectzma-laden or sweaty, though it was a bit hairy. At least Blake wasn't covered in the black, course strands. His back was relatively clear though his arms and chest were lined with it to a small degree. Instead it felt rather leathery, tested by his work and strenuous life. Yet his fingers didn't resist the tough and uneven hide, they sunk right in. His muscles so hard and unaccepting, yet yielding to his surprisingly strong hands, and submitted to his ministrations.

He'd given massages here and there, of course. Nothing fancy. Hell, he'd slept with a few woman in his life, back when he was confused about his sexuality and decided to experiment. Sure, it wasn't half bad, and in reality he may even be considered more a bisexual then a straight man, but he didn't seek them out, not even after that. He gave them some nice, taught back rubs before bedding them- and found it was a nice way to loosen someone up. The woman he wanted to impress- the men he wanted to dominate. Norman was doing his best to apply his lessons learned to the powerful creature before him, even if it was a world away from a sheepish girl at his feet.

"Mmmm- _nice._" Carter hummed under his breath, closing his eyes as he felt the kid's hands sink like a hot knife through butter, disappearing into his muscles as he grabbed even tighter, rolling his shoulders in his palms as he moved up and down his absolutely constricted tissue groups.

Leaning his head back, he let the ex-agent work. Feeling his body tense up from a man's touch, he received an even tighter squeeze as Norman's hands clasped over his bestial shoulders.

"Loosen up, Cartah." Norman's breath sounded in his ear, the hot and humid air telling him the man had gotten too close- and it made the other man uncomfortable, reacting negatively as he pulled away and threw the other man a scowl.

"My God, you're tense. I can't do this if you're gonna tighten up every time I start to get'chu relaxed."

Seeing an irritated glance in the young man's face, surprisingly, it made him want to cooperate instead of fight. He sat back down, and took a deep breath as he puffed his chest out, held it, and let it go along with waves of heated tension he felt for life in general. Letting those muscles relax, fall into their natural places. The young man behind him heard this, and felt the skin become like putty in his hands.

Moving easier now, Jayden began to massage his shoulders harder this time. Despite the awkward air that filled the room, he ignored it and sought to work deeper. His thumbs worked under his shoulder muscles, pressing hard into the crevices back there and unwinding centuries of neglect.

"So- what's this one back here?" Jayden sought, trying to make this as normal as possible.

"It looks old."

Almost forgetting his casual agreement to talk, he perked up and leaned a little backward as the kid moved downward, pressing his fingers into his back as his fingers and traveled down his sides. He wasn't expecting that, and tensed again, only to unwind once more seconds later.

"Got it when I was twenty." He mused, rolling his shoulders as an uncomfortable tingle lit up his neck when Jayden went lower.

"…I finally moved out of my father's house. Couldn't fucking wait. I joined the force, got enough cash and flew right out of there."

"Went right out and got that. I had it re-touched once, but I haven't been back for a while."

Nodding, Jayden felt an especially tight spot about halfway down his back. Bringing his right elbow up, he put as much force behind it as he could as he forced it hard into the crevice. Holding onto the fierce lieutenant for leverage with his left hand, his fingers clutched into his bicep harshly as he boldly sought to correct Blake's wrought and ill-attended back.

"MMhhhmmph!" He heard from the other man, stifling a cry the best he could.

"-So fucking wound up…" Blake caught him say as he pressed even harder, feeling him force forward and writhe with a small amount of pain.

"You were right, Blake. Christ, how can you walk around like this all day? 'Must be killi'an yah."

A small amount of sweat began to form on his brow, wiggling his shoulders as he felt himself being dominated by the younger man behind him. Instead of being angry, he found it instead rather welcoming. He knew the kid was right, that he had a stressful, tired life that almost never had a break. Going to a chiropractor? Oh, he could laugh at that. If it wasn't a life-or-death decision he didn't do it. If it didn't kill him that day- he was fine with it. Ten years down the line? Five? He'd consider it.

Someone hadn't touched him like that in ages. An old flame, and she was long gone. He knew that was never going to happen again. It was odd to have someone who actually cared about him, even if it was another man. A man he honestly could say he wasn't the biggest fan of. A pain in the ass, a know-it-all, hotshot, pompous little fuck who rubbed him the wrong way every chance he could. Carter was convinced it was intentional, too.

For a few sweet minutes, he let himself not be the one in control. It felt pretty good, the other man's muscles adding to the force behind the ministrations, the alterations to his spine and muscles. Rearranging, cracking, putting things back into place that had long been causing him discomfort. He wasn't sure what to feel, how to react, but all he knew was that it felt…Right. Not as fucked up as he thought it would be, the awkward air in the room long since being breathed in and consumed by their hungry lungs.

The girl that gave him a back massage all those years ago couldn't compare. She wasn't strong enough to do this, to actually fix that had been broken.

"Ahh-ahhh!" Carter let out a low exclamation, biting his bottom lip as he felt the kid's skilled hands move along his spine, finding a piece of his vertebrae slightly out of place, shimming it back in just a smidgeon.

"Shit, watch it-"

"Sorrah, Carter." Norman said in a husky, tired voice. Sweat was beginning to form on his own brow, breathing hard as he grew tired from the force needed.

"It's probably not gonna 'get any bettah, though."

Blake twitched and shifted his shoulders a little. Really? Shouldn't this had been more pleasant then rotating his spine around?

"Who taught you to fuck with a man's back like that, anyway?"

There as a pause, and for a second he felt Norman's hand stop. He was surprised how disappointed he found himself in those lonely few minutes.

"My dad's friend was a chiropractor. Liked to play golf together…He'd give them to me free to our family all the time."

A small laugh formed in his lungs, and it moved his torso slightly as he chuckled more in his chest then in his throat. A smile crept onto his peaked, dry lips, and he couldn't help but comment.

"Oh yeah? Did he give 'ya a happy ending, too?"

In response, a small sarcastic guffaw erupted from Norman's lips as he began to start again, working his lower back and making the man in front of him make a low, lovely growl. It made the ex-agent's insides quiver and his neck tingle at that reaction.

"They're not the same thing. He just moves your spine around, a masseuse works your muscles…I'm trying to do a little of both. You're all fucked up back here-"

"So, he _didn't _give you a hand-job? What a waste."

Norman smiled wide, his teeth showing like a drunken fool as his face flashed red. His eyes shifted down to a half-lidded position, feeling relaxed himself with the older, scarier unbalanced man before him set into a sated state of mind.

"And the others?" He posed, moving his left hand to boldly massage the man's left bicep, indicating his need to want to talk about his scorpion tattoo.

"…First one."

"Ah." Norman mused. "What's it suppos' to rep-rehsant?"

"This girl I was with…" He hesitated, realizing the venerable position he was being put in.

"…She hated the things-"

"What, scorp'beans or tattoos?" He said that in a huskier tone, making the man before him blush a little in recognition. Usually, when someone talked like that…They were doing something a bit more nasty.

Blake then winced as he punctuated that with a harsh push to his kidneys, using his left shoulder as leverage as he pushed in, moving sinew out if the way as he put them delicately back where they supposedly belonged.

He growled low in his chest, yet in a way that was obviously more from reaction then to a threat.

"S-Scorpions. Fuck…" He reacted, shifting his back under the other man's touch. He was no stranger to pain, but none of this was expected from the kid. Every time he tried to relax, the other man would do something both painful yet oddly refreshing. He knew it would hurt for days, but in the end he would be better off for it. Or at least, he hoped. He'd never had it done before, but he'd known people who had.

"So, you got a Scorp'bean because she _hated _them?"

"I was trying to get rid of her…" He mumbled, secretly hoping Norman wouldn't talk anymore about his old flames.

"She was a bit of the…'stalker' type."

"The crazy bitch type?" Jayden confirmed, and he heard the other man snicker once more at the memory.

"You're more down to Earth then I thought, Norman. Yeah- that's about right. I thought it looked pretty badass, too. That doesn't hurt."

"I was always under the assumption that cops usually couldn't get tattoos." Norman retaliated, "It makes them look intim'adaten."

A sigh, then Carter answered. "As long as they don't show…Besides, does it _really look _I give a shit? Who's gonna stop me?"

Stone-faced, the agent furrowed his brow at the other man's attitude. Carter really was like an unstoppable force. Something told him that even he was still alive after the Origami Killer case and went back to file a report- he wouldn't be fired, at the most suspended with pay. Carter had obviously been there for a long time, and it would have taken a whole hell of a lot to get the aggressive cop off the force. He didn't know why or how he was able to keep his job for so long. Captain Perry could only do so much. The fact that he made it to lieutenant was enough of a shock to the young, dead man.

Jayden separated from his back, leaning away as he took a step to the left and stepped on the floor.

"I need you to lay down." He indicated, cheeks flushing red.

Looking back in response, the older male made a disgusted, perplexed look as his lip tilted on a slant.

"What? What the hell you planning-"

"You want me to stop? Make up your mind- just remember everything I do, you've bettah be return'en."

Scraping his top teeth over his lower lip, he chewed it for a moment and followed suit. Looking up at the kid's face, Blake noticed how uncomfortable he looked, and he couldn't help but return the exact same expression. Why didn't this feel as satisfying as he thought he would? Jayden forced to massage his back should have been a fantastic effort in humility- yet he almost completely forgot about this when the act began.

"On your stomach- there. Now relax-"

Carter did the exact opposite when he felt the bed sink, and the other man began to crawl onto his bed. A place that should have been sacred to him, safe, somewhere where a man can rest and unwind from the day.

Even if Carter always took his work home with him, an ever-present cloud over his life. This time, however, work was the last thing on his mind. No images of victims and their killers flooded his mind, no thoughts of getting certain paperwork done, filing reports and doing other mindless tasks that filled his time. It all evaporated as he felt Jayden put his legs on either side, straddling him as he sat on his back.

'_Holy FUCK. He is trying something- no way you little fag-"_

Jayden could sense and judge the man's body beginning to rise, a fluid desire to react adversely to another man, yet he put all his weight down as he straddled his hips, pressing his own into the small of his back in order to keep him down.

"Cartah! Stop- I told you to relax-"

"Get the fuck off of me! I'm not going to-"

A low growl erupted from the lieutenant's throat as he felt hands on his back again. Slowly, and with reluctance, Carter submitted to the Omega male's touch once more. Squeezing roughly, he felt the digits with their equally strong and soft palm make their way up and down.

"You…You liking this, Jayden?" He questioned, a slight smirk to his voice as he lay his head on his own pillow, shifting against the mattress and feeling his body and tensions virtually melt into the bed beneath him.

"No actually, you smell like sweat and you're being a shit-head about this- but I'm look'een forward to having my own done pretty soon."

Doing his very best to sound irritated and disappointed, Norman felt, then heard a small sigh peak it's way out of the other man's mouth as he felt him simultaneously relax all the muscles he could. Becoming butter in his hands, he noticed Carter had closed his eyes, his breathing fading away into deep, shallow breaths as his back rose up and down in a slow, controlled fashion.

Blake's legs were positioned oddly behind him, one leg curled in and the other straight out. For all but a second all the twisted ways he could get back at the fearsome cop ran through his mind. From painting various slander on his ass, to even slapping the thing to get him riled up once more, masturbating then cumming on his hair and back- oh that was a good one. Though a little gross. It surprised the young man just how easily the twisted psychotic fell into submission at his hands.

Of course, he knew he was still being controlled by the bastard no matter how hard he tried. He had ARI, he made the rules. Though he had to admit, he was glad he had them, and not somebody like Ash or Perry. He had little connection with these men, and the minute they saw him, they most likely would have thrown the things away in fear. Only Blake seemed to have some sort of sick desire to keep him as a little pet on a leash. It obviously pleased him.

A small pang of embarrassment heated his face, feeling the man's hot, sweaty skin cling to his inner thighs. He could smell the day-old scent of old sweat, aftershave, and even sex. It was from before, which felt like a whole week ago instead of from the early afternoon. Shifting as he suddenly found himself disgusted and ashamed, he dismounted the older man and sat on his knees as he arched his own back, feeling his spine crack into place from all that bending over.

"Ai'ght Blake, my turn."

Jayden lightly tapped Blake on his left side, feeling his muscles jiggle and heard their skin slap together. His own soft, delicate flesh meeting the other man's worn hide. His flesh felt warm, some sweat sticking to his hand still, and he winced in disgust as he wiped it on the bed.

"Blake?" He questioned again, leaning on his right elbow to look into the other man's face.

'_Aw, Hell…'_

He was asleep! Shit- he knew he was relaxed, now…Finally. Yet he wasn't expecting this. His eyes were shut, rapid eye movement already shifting under his lids, breathing slowed and calm. He'd never seen the man so rested before. Every second of the day he seemed so guarded, so ready for a fight, a chance to display his authority. Yet in sleep, one didn't have to worry about any of that. In one's dreams, they were already the king.

A deep sigh rumbled in the younger man's chest, heavily irritated and heavily frustrated with his rough and unattractive personality. Shifting in his seat, he leaned over and grabbed hold of his left shoulder, rocking him side to side gently to try and wake him without making turn into a mass of pure rage.

"Carter!" Then he found himself hushing his words, and questioned why. "_Carter?"_

No response came from the slumbering monster. It was actually surprising how quiet it was as he slept, no snores, no deep rumbles. Just the sound of his slowly breathing in and out, his eyes darting about inside his eyelids. He _could _wake him up, it wasn't like he wasn't owed something, wasn't worthy of smacking awake the resting tyrant. His sensitive, caring nature reared in protest as he considered this, the thought or rudely smacking his ass or biting his ear- and he stopped as he felt a twinge of warmth shoot to his groin.

'_This is fucked up. God he's gross…He's a fucking dick…An incompetent, violent bastard. Why'm I gett'n off like this? Maybe be'cawse I'd do anything to see him put in his place? Hold him down and just do 'em?'_

Making a face from the thought, he squinted as his eyes rested on the other man's face.

'_I'm shocked he never came after me after I punched him. I guess he never saw it comin'.'_

Thinking of this, he found his left arm wondering over and moving a few locks of black hair to the side. They had been obscuring his right eye, the one he remembered socking in the interrogation room. If he hadn't been looking for it, he never would have seen it, already the bruising was healing. _'He was bleed'in from his nose, too.'_He suddenly recalled, then gingerly felt along the bridge of his nose, Carter made a noise of disapproval, a "Hmmm" noise in his throat as his nostrils flared and eyelids pressed further together. Instantly, Norman pulled back in fear of waking the sleeping dog.

'_This is stupid. I shouldn't give a shit about him- he doesn't give a shit about me…If I didn't give him head earlier, he wouldn't 'ave given me the time of day.'_

Licking his lips briefly, he slid off the bed and padded lightly towards the kitchen with his bare feet hitting the cold linoleum floors. Thinking logically, he made his way towards the front door, grimacing at the cool air from outside. It was raining, even if it was a far cry from the heavy downpour he was used to in this city.

'_You're in Blake's house. This is weirder then being dead…'_

Shutting the door, he locked it by turning the small dial on the doorknob, testing it by pulling on the knob. Then he locked the dead-bolt, then secured the small chain. He moved towards the windows and secured them the best he could, despite the humid air warping the old wood. Taking a deep breath, he tested his sudden independence from the man's psycho-imaginative capabilities. Even when asleep, he seemed able to maintain Norman's presence, and it was confounding him all the more.

That's when he turned, making his way towards the fridge again. His mouth was dry, and hoped that the man's odd dream-state kept him here for just a bit longer. Opening the door, the light temporarily blinded him as he shielded his eyes with one hand, reaching around for something to drink from. Looking in, he found a rather bare fridge- a few bottles of beer, the remnants of the case they opened, and a jug of milk.

Scanning the side door, he noticed everyday condiments like mustard and butter crammed into the spaces present. There was a large container of tomato juice on the bottom shelf, and reached down for it. He adored the stuff- drank it by the gallon. Jayden felt ecstatic that the man liked it to, noticing it was half done. That meant that not only did they have something in common, but that there would be plenty to have around.

Unscrewing the top, he leaned back and drank straight from the jug. Gulping down a few mouthfuls hurriedly, spilling some of the red juice on his neck. Reaching up, he moved to wipe it off, then walked to the sink to clean it off. As he went back to replace the jug in the fridge, he paused as he noticed something different on the kitchen counter.

'_Is that a drawing?'_

Moving closer, he sat the tomato juice down and tilted his head at the doodle on the counter. It was done sort of half-assed, not a whole amount of detail put into it. Yet it was sure as hell much better then anything he could pump out, which would have been a stick-figure or one of those houses with the curly-smoke coming out of it's crooked chimney.

There was girl, a pretty girl- long flowing hair as she sat on the floor, legs together as she rested her arms on her knees and glanced off to the side. The lines looked clean, her proportions all correct. Then to the right, a random, sloppy assortment of shapes like cones and boxes. It had been drawn over an old note from the precinct, obviously no longer important. A few numbers and mathematical equations lined the paper. Norman theorized it was something done more out of boredom then a test of abilities, perhaps even done while talking on the phone.

'_Well, well…Never could have guessed that. Carter has an artistic streak…That's actually rather typical of bipolars…Wouldn't be surprised if he was on something, too. He seemed to eager to fall asleep. 'Didn't take much.'_

Walking away, he put the tomato juice back in the fridge and shut the door. Entering Blake's room again, he shut the light off and turned on the ceiling fan. _'He owes me one tomorrow_…' Thought the younger man as he carefully walked back to the living room.

The place was almost too neat for him, he was a messy soul and his office looked absolutely horrible. Yet here, everything seemed very dutifully put together, stored and labeled. The floor was spotless, the corners free of cobwebs, the carpet vacuumed with recent marks to indicate a little too much enthusiasm towards the effort. If it wasn't for the fact that Norman was used to living and working in crime-ridden D.C, he'd have never even shut and locked the doors and windows.

Another sigh parted his lips as he tried not to think of the all-too-obvious problems, he was still here in the real-world, but he knew better then to get too used to it. Any minute he could fade out, back into the dream-land, ARI-world, whatever tactually was. He'd be lying if she said he even knew for sure which one of those was actually closer to the truth.. Spying the couch, he gave into temptation as he entertained the thought of sleep. Actual sleep, on an real soft surface. This was the next best thing he had to a bed, which he wasn't going to even consider sleeping in with Carter right there.

Sure, he could have scooched over to the side, curled into his normal fetus position and fell asleep. He'd probably wake up snuggling next to him like a fucking lover, though, or at least that's what he told himself.

He wasn't angry with the odd sensations he was getting from their interactions- just confused. He wasn't his sort, not the type that he would even consider sleeping with. This thought still loomed, Carter being more like a necessity to him them a friend or especially a lover. God- that last thought made him ill. Yet it also scared him in it's actuality, it's practicality…If he was good at it, it might actually be-

Norman tried to bring his logic to the table. _'You feel like you're being dominated by him, by just being in this situation. You're getting off on it. Or maybe it's because he's been the only person you've been close to in the past few years, even if it's completely by force, and only for a few days…Hell, it hasn't even been a whole 72 hours. Or maybe it has… Gawd, I can't think right now. I need to sleep.'_

These thoughts were looming in his mind, yet suppressed as he gathered the blanket he used earlier. His body was starting to feel the wear and tear of the force he had put behind attempting to fix Blake's body, his own muscles crying out for relief. He made a mental note to remind him that he owed him his very own re-adjustment, even if he secretly feared the amount of force and ruthlessness that would be behind it. Part of him told himself that he'd better just drop the issue.

'_The hell you are. You had a deal, and if you start letting him walk all over you this is going to get ugly, fast. That bastard can't get away with everyth'an. He has been for years, but it stops now.'_

Removing his shirt, he folded it neatly and set it down on the coffee table. Back at home, it would have been thrown carelessly off onto the floor, where he'd have it ready to be washed when he got the chance. As a guest, however, he knew better. It would most likely disappear soon, anyway. He'd most likely awaken back in his home in ARI, his own body and clothing disappearing along with him. There was a sensation of weightlessness beginning to creep into his system, and he took the opportunity to lay down, his half-naked body shivering under the thick blanket and made a groan to accompany his tired, worn state. Tightening the large blanket, he shifted and closed his eyes as he propped his head against the end-pillow.

His mind raced with unanswered questions, and he thought he'd never get to sleep. Yet soon enough, his poisoned body and overworked brain seized the moment to rest, carefully drifting off into a silent slumber. Over the course of an hour, his body curled more into a fetus position as it recalled it's time in the womb long ago.

Unlike the man in the other room, his eyes stayed motionless underneath his lids. Focusing instead on the horrors that it was about to witness as it did every night.


	9. Shadows

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, and sex between two men. **

Author's Note: **The next chapter will probably take a little longer, seeing as I'll be vacationing for about a week. I did want to get this one up ASAP so you'd have something to read. As always I putz around too much, so here's a chapter that has more to do with Blake's thoughts then anything interesting he may actually be doing. Like I said, I love to write/read about my favorite characters doing the most mundane of tasks. I'm strange. Anyway, in case you haven't noticed, I'm also trying to nail Blake's Philly accent. It's a hard feat, considering the Philly accent is a morphology of several others. (Jersey, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, New York) I AM TRYING. LOL. Let me know if it gets too ridiculus. OH, AND I'M A REVIEW WHORE. So pay up, or I'll cut you.**

**P.S, you will win mutiple internets if you can guess who the monster in the forest is supposed to be. Only Lovecraft readers will catch it.**

* * *

**_"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." _**_-H.P. Lovecraft_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

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It started like always; almost routine for the young man. Like getting up in the morning and brushing one's teeth- except there wasn't any sort of calm or normalcy to this particular event. He supposed it _was_ normal, if only in the way that he experienced the same basic dream almost every night. Though he had learned it wasn't a dream so much as it was a 'disorder', one he had for about as long as he could remember.

He was in a dark northeastern forest, so dark it was just about impenetrable to the eye. Where _exactly_, he couldn't say. It appeared more like an eastern United States forest, thick and laden with pine and tall coniferous trees alike . He was in an oddly shaped clearing, like it didn't even belong there. The woods around him were so dark compared to the summer twilight, the sun sinking below the horizon a good half-hour ago. Crickets chirped loudly, along with some frogs chanting a chorus.

Norman normally wore his suit in these dreams- and this time was no different. He looked down and vaguely considered why he found himself wondering in the woods at this time of night. How'd he get here? Was he on a case? Looking left and right, he squinted in confusion as his heart started to beat wildly. All the color he possessed drained straight from his system, body tingling as a jolt of fear ran along his back. Cold, liquid trepidation and insecurity, the beginnings of true terror.

Then came the sounds- and Norman swore every nerve in his body started to tingle, freeze and come to attention. His fists clenched to his sides, eyes watering as he froze in place. They were unearthly noises, a cacophony of steps that would normally mean more then one creature. Though for some odd reason, he knew there _was _only one. A sixth sense, experience…He couldn't wrap his mind around the hurried thoughts. Perhaps he just didn't want to.

Each trample sounded light, almost like a deer. Yet it was no deer, no animal like that would come near another human being once they got wind. It was in a beeline, and it was taking it's time. Sticks broke, snapping from the force applied to them. His body jolted as he stared at the blackness slowly engulfing the rest of the forest.

A pause- it was close now. Then it stopped. He strained to hear, unable to swallow, and a few small tears making their way down his face. Jayden was not a coward in the least, wouldn't hesitate to stand up against another man. Even another animal if such a situation ever presented itself. However, this was neither. Because just as before…He simply _knew. _A sort of "wrongness" in the air.

'_You should be running.' _The thought leapt through the thick fog of terror.

That order from his brain took a surprisingly long time to get to his feet. It was only vaguely moving him backwards when he heard the sudden and disturbing sound of galloping, and like that it was coming his way. It was too fast to even make an educated decision, to wonder if he should catch of glimpse of the terror that plagued him every night, with almost no recollection the next day. Those concepts were thrown into the wind when the sound reached his ears, and his feet reacted to that long-given order.

Turning on a dime, breath caught and choking in his throat, he spun about and ran in the opposite direction. Almost instantly, a path was there that wasn't before. It wasn't a clear trail, but something he could at least make his way through- not that he gave a shit. He'd find a way through the mass of forest even if he had to trample his own way through the underbrush. Luckily for him, one 'magically' appeared, and he didn't have time to thank anybody for it.

Adrenaline kicking in, he sucked in the air hurriedly as fear clutched it's deadly hold. He ran, not taking the time to use his track experience from school to help. Not that it mattered, he hadn't run since his last training session in the FBI. That was months ago. Instead, he did what was the exact opposite of the right thing to do- ran like Hell. All his energy went into his legs, pumping his arms for locomotion as he heavily breathed the warm air. Light on his feet, he took off down the path, ducking the occasional low-hanging branch as he went as fast as he possibly could. The shot of adrenaline, the fight-or-flight response kicking in. He sailed over a small log in his way, landing hard as he felt the pressure increase in his lungs.

The pace of the thing behind him increased, not swayed one bit by the man's exertion before him. It's prey was weak in comparison to it's unholy physique. Norm didn't want to look back, it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, and yet he found himself doing just that- even when he told himself _not _to- glancing quickly over his shoulder as his heart dropped in his chest at it's proximity.

He didn't catch much, but what he did made it far worse. Large teeth in a behemoth, all-consuming maw. It's snout taking up a majority of it's dark, dripping body- and speaking of body, he couldn't make out what it was even made of. It seemed to almost not have one, it's torso appearing no more then a slimy 'mist' of dark red and black, small snapping jaws in it's midst. It had numerous feet, all scrambling for him. Hooves- cloven hooves like a goat- and a glimpse of a tentacle swathed in viscous mucus

"_Oh __**God!**__" _He cried out, the sight propelling him forward as fast as he could go.

'_If it catches me, there'll be noth'n left…'_

Lungs on fire, he darted into a clearing, taking the initiative to double back, taking a sharp turn as heard the sound of light, yet thunderous hooves follow behind him. He tried not to think of what would happen if he was caught, not so much mauled as erased from existence in nanoseconds. There was a sound of a chortle mixed with an odd 'bray' that sounded ethereal and floated on the breeze. It was laughing at him, not frustrated as he had hoped.

The young man swore he swallowed his own heart, as instead of having difficulty turning around, it simply ghosted over the landscape rather in a straight line. He wailed out a cry of sheer horror; not caring how weak it made him seem. Nothing mattered now except pure survival, of running as fast as he could. Something told him to perhaps climb a tree, hide, anything. Running would get him nowhere. Yet it was all he ended up doing, all his legs seemed to be able to do.

Another chortle, and he burst forward with everything he had left, making a jump over a small stream as he tripped and stumbled over some rocks. A cry left his lips when he realized any slow-down now would be fatal. It was then when he felt his left leg disappear from under him, his weight going forward as he face hit the dirt of the embankment, hand sinking into the mix of mud and soil as he scrambled to pull himself forward-

Lifted into the air, he realized his demise might as well be a sure thing. A tentacle was wrapped about his ankle, practically salivating and engorging his suit's pant leg with thick, disgusting slime. Crying out as he screamed as loud as his lungs could manage, he went into shock as another tentacle slung about his right wrist, pulling him closer in a split-second- and like that-

Norman awoke screaming, covered in a cold sweat. His breath laborious, skin pale and body trembling. Looking down he watched his hands shake, mirroring his own withdrawal symptoms. As he struggled to control his own breathing, he found himself gasping again as he realized he was in a forest- and crawled back in repugnance. It wasn't until he took a few seconds to realize he was in a totally different sort of forest, a calm autumn woods with a gentle afternoon sunlight peaking through the trees.

'_Great, back to square one.'_

He wasn't sure who was in charge of ARI, Blake or him. In fact, he theorized that they both had a hand in how the program operated. His brain was present in Carter's, a factor that was both frightening and disgusting to his thoughts. He considered Blake a dirty, unprofessional cop, and to be compared to him was a smack in the face.

'_Probably just an effect of the system, when it doesn't get an order, it resets to the default.'_

Gone was the soft blanket and couch- and it was replaced with the hard forest floor. Grumbling in irritation, he knew better then to be angry at the way it worked. Instead he tried to focus the best he could, and found himself in a soft bed. It wasn't ornate, wasn't made of anything special, just a bare-bones mattress with a comforter on top, a soft pillow for his head. It would do. It appeared suddenly, making him gasp as the springs creaked and bounced as he jolted a tenth-of-an-inch onto the surface. Curling up, he calmed his heart before trying again to fall asleep.

He couldn't quite remember his dream previous- because it wasn't so much a dream as much as it was a constant necessity for his psyche to act out. Luckily for him, his sleep faded away into a more calm slumber, focusing on mundane tasks for the day as his stomach once more rumbled for nourishment.

* * *

"_Uh…uhhhh!" _A struggled, forceful pant, a high squeal- _"Yeah! _So good, honey…You're so _good_!"

Carter put everything he could into the tight little virgin- bucking into her like a wild bull in a rodeo, attempting to dislodge it's rider. Though in this case, he supposed he was the one riding. Grabbing her hips and rising her ass high off the desk, he angled her so he'd be able to fuck her as hard as he could without hindrance, getting as far into her as possible. The desk below slid with each pound into her tight, wet walls. She was moaning up a storm, the loudest bitch he'd ever screwed. Well, besides in other dreams, of course.

Having the talent of a lucid dreamer, he concocted his perfect fantasy. Fucking a girl on his desk, as members of the precinct looked on in admiration. Others would find this embarrassing, yet for Blake it was his ultimate turn-on, sex in public. Not only that, he was proud to show off his fucking skills to the rest of his work force.

"Oh God! Harder- uh-_uh_- _uhhhh-harder!" _Her voice grew husky and strained, eyes shut as her legs painfully twisted in their open position, so painfully spread they couldn't even make their way around his waist to help the process. Her blond curly hair matted on the desk as she cried, grabbing his shoulders pleadingly for some leverage. The fingers twisted as they clasped the shirt- pulling the sleek blue fabric as though her life depended on it. Her perky D-cups bounced beautifully under him, and he reached down to handle them by curling his right palm around it, squeezing it tightly as he admired it's soft weight in his hand. Twisting the erect nipple in his thumb and finger, her crying amplified as she arched her back towards his form, tightening her blue eye- shadowed lids.

"Yeah bitch- I know you fuck'n like it…" He huskily spat, eyes carnivorous as he pumped so hard he would swear he was stabbing the bitch instead of copulating.

"Say my fuck'n name, say it…"

Approving nods radiated from the crowd, Perry and Ash, as always, looking jealous and yet still expectant- like they were gonna have a shot next. That's what he wanted them to think- as always, at the end of the dream, they'd be turned down. Adding to the enjoyment, strengthening his pride that made up his very being. The woman in the office blushed horribly and looked about ready to file in line, all the regular plain-looking ones suddenly lavish. Their chests bulging, hair un-kept and flowing, stripping slowly as to be next. Raincoats thrown to the side, uniforms ripped open- buttons flying asunder as their breasts seemed about ready to flow from their suddenly tiny bras.

"_Carter! Cartah- Oh __**God-**__"_

Suddenly, his eyes glanced back down when he realized that the tanned little virgin he was nailing a second ago didn't sound the same. She sounded deeper, sounded like…

'_Oh shit-'_

She had turned into Norman. Laying there, legs spread out on the desk in the same exact position. Pale skin slathered with perspiration, eyes closed, mouth parted beautifully in a slightly more masculine moan then the woman he'd just been screwing. And there he was- cock deep inside the young man's tight ass. So tight, he instantly noticed his normally fast thrusting rhythm- tone down and require more effort. Like suddenly turning up the gears in a bike. For a brief second he'd realized Norman's ass was far warmer, muscles more powerful and pushing at his every movement to reject the body that he was forcing inside- it felt even better then the virgin he'd been screwing seconds before. Then he felt himself become quickly disgusted and betrayed, turned off- as he went to shrug and pull Jayden's clutching hands off his shoulders like he suddenly learned that he had the plague- could pull out and retreat into a hole in the wall and die-

"_Oh_" There came a quick, hoarse pant. Jayden's back curving as he seemed to writhe in his sexual grip. "Shit- _Blake…I'm Uhaa-" _He gasped harshly, mouth parting as he tried to gain some sort of control. There was none to be held.

The tortured cries were too much- and he felt himself unable to resist the urge to plow into the Norman's tight ass twice more as he felt himself suddenly and unexpectently come. He heard the kid do the same seconds later, moaning deep down in his chest- and it sounded defeated. Conquered. That in itself, felt worth it. He was surprised as the man shuddered all over, but mostly in his rectum where he felt it pinch and tighten his member, and it was there where he bucked his hips into the other's heat- and he found himself not caring as Norman blew his load on his blue work shirt- he was too busy getting as deep into the kid as he could as he shot his load inside. Growling and grunting so low it was monstrous, continuing to press himself deep into his insides as wiggled his hips and instinctively tried to deposit as much as his seed as he could.

Standing there, he could swear his vision blinked in and out as he recovered from quite the experience. Shaking all over from the intensity of the orgasm, he looked up and finally remembered he was being watched by the whole precinct. Everyone's faces were a mix of horror, shock, and of course…Ash looked quite amused.

"So the rumors are true, huh?" The man in grey yelled out, and a few members in the audience snickered, while Perry shook his head in disapproval.

His face got about as red as it could- not that it wasn't already filled with blood from embarrassment and shame the minute he saw Norman beneath him- when he recalled this, he looked down and watched the agent's face fill with the realization, the horror planted firmly in his eyes. Jayden panted and blushed, realizing just now, apparently, that he was being watched by the entire homicide division of the Philadelphia police force.

The kid's stomach and chest were ill-defined, as he always envisioned the kid being slim beneath his clothes. Sparse hair dotted his chest in a fine layer, ending in a trail of hair led from his sweat-filled navel to his still-erect penis, only now beginning to lower itself in satisfaction. He recalled thinking it was a decent size- then mentally called himself a fag for noticing. A sense of revulsion, of disgust and failure filled Blake; and he shamefully pulled out, hearing a 'pop' as they separated.

"Christ, Blake. 'Didn't know you were queer. I thought you were looking at 'me funny the other day-"

Ash's mouth continued as Blake shamefully put himself away as fast as possible. Zipping up, walking backwards while giving heated glimpse to the crowd that gathered. Like a dog with his tail between his legs, he threw Jayden a hateful glance that hinged on despair; then quickly moved out of the room. The woman held hands to their mouths as they either looked shocked, or started to laugh. Not believing they were ready to jump the man who apparently only wanted to fuck young male co-workers.

"Blake! Leave your badge at the desk before you leave. This sort of behavior is _unacceptable_- Well once Jayden finally gets off of it- Jesus Christ, Norman! Put some pants on-"

Awaking violently, he gasped as the alarm sounded. It was actually a woman's voice, the alarm set to the local news broadcast every morning. His heart hammered in his chest at the sudden jolt, then he shook his head violently with a groan. Doing his best to calm himself down, he then immediately felt the oncoming migraine as he cringed harshly. Occasionally he had these in the morning, but this time it was very different.

The worming, squirming migraine was enough to make a lesser man cry. He instead breathed out through clenched teeth, pressing himself into the bed as he waited for it to end. But it didn't, not like it normally did. He went to get up, then felt lightheaded, and fell back into bed.

"_Aw…Fuck."_

Times like these, he was glad he gave himself plenty of time in the morning. Squinting at the clock, it was still only five after six. Ash would probably come in later today as he was most likely working until late last night. Though the detective was rather unpredictable as long as he knew him. For all he knew he just never went home last night, wouldn't be the first time.

Continuing to deal with the rampage through his cortex, he shifted in his bed, rolling over onto his back. He felt the pulsing move from the right to left side, feeling as though there was some strange tunnel creating itself through the direct middle of his brain.

Moving his legs together, he looked down to take notice he still had pants on. Not to mention…He was rather wet down in the area between his legs. Despite being able to have vibrantly realistic, controllable dreams, he usually was able to restrain himself from cumming in bed. If only because it was a bitch to clean up, even with boxers on. Then he recalled what exactly his dream had been about. His stomach felt as though it sucked against his spine; and he made a face that spoke of repugnance to nobody in particular. Sticking his dark, dry tongue out- he scrapped it against his teeth as it retreated. Like doing the action would cleanse him of the act.

Ironically enough, the headache subsided at this rather gross realization. Much to his chagrin, it ebbed away completely at the thought of who he fucked into the desk in his lucid dream- Norman goddamn Jayden. The man he couldn't stand from the very beginning which was now pervading his thoughts and dreams- his now almost constant companion.

'_Shit. What did I get myself into?'_

It almost made him sick when he thought about that. At first it was utterly satisfying to think of humiliating and dominating the brat from Washington. It was an exercise in power, of control. However, it was steadily becoming something more, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Not in a romantic sense, but in a personal sense. He never felt comfortable being too close to anyone in life, and now this irritable kid was in his home, his brain, his dreams. It was starting to bother him the more he thought about it.

'_So stop thinking about it. Get your ass to work.'_

Right. Taking advantage of the crawling headache's disappearance, he rolled over and stood up from bed. Then he remembered why he had slept in his pants, and felt rather ashamed once more when he had remembered why. Jayden had been rubbing his back, and he fell asleep. Fell. Asleep. What the fuck was wrong with him?

A sudden, unnatural anger gripped him, and he stomped about his house in an effort to get ready. He already pissed away a half hour laying in bed. Now he had to make every minute count. He ran into the bathroom, stripping quickly as he turned on the nozzles. Getting into the stall, he checked his body to make sure he hadn't been 'taken advantage' of by the little pillow-biter while he was out like a light. Well, his ass didn't hurt. That was all the evidence he needed.

Bending over slightly to wash his legs, he winced as his back cried out in pain. Recalling the 're-adjustment' he received from the little snot. He growled low in his throat, seething with unholy rage. For a moment he toyed with putting on the glasses just so he could smack the shit out of the brat- but decided he had no time for it.

Taking it like a man, he finished his shower and hobbled out, careful not to flex his back too much. He had to stand up, however, and made a moan of pain as he shook from the exertion. Panting a little, he dried off and told himself he didn't wash his hair- but decided 'fuck it' as he put the towel around his waist, synching it tightly. Walking over to his sink and mirror, he checked his face to make sure he looked at least presentable to society.

After brushing his teeth, he then got out his shaving cream and razor. Taking away all the stubble around and inside his thick goatee, he briefly considered shaving it off. Of course, he knew that would drastically change his appearance, so he decided not to. It wasn't so much that Blake was resistant to change, it was that when he liked something, he stuck to it. He liked his look- it somehow intimidated people. So he made sure it was trimmed, and let it be.

Washing his face then splashing on the aftershave, he tended to the rest of his bathroom activities quickly, applying deodorant as his last chore- then left the room and carefully made his way to his bedroom to dress.

Exiting his room fixing his tie, he took a deep exhale as his rage was still tormenting him full-force. It wasn't really Jayden so much as it was the cascading effects of everything that morning, in his whole life- they all found an excuse to come together and keep him pissed off. Pulling out the toaster and making himself some toast, he checked the clock and found he was decent with time. As long as nothing messed him up, he'd be fine.

Knowing that wouldn't fill him up for shit- he whipped out the frying pan and grabbed himself two eggs from the fridge. Taking out the milk and butter, he quickly made himself some scrambled eggs. Though not much of a cook- he made due with what he had. At least his mother was able to teach him some of the basics before she died.

When they were all finished, he poured himself a glass of orange juice and carried them to the coffee table as he turned on the TV. Catching the morning news, he fumbled with the remote to turn it up. The weather came on with the rather up-beat weatherman, whom he honestly couldn't stand. Fucker always acted like he just got done doing some kind of ecstasy, always so chipper and willing to put a positive spin on everything.

"_Rainy with a chance of sunshine!" _Cried the douche, far too happy for being up that early. That shit-eating-grin of his proudly displayed, Blake openly laughed at the homo on screen.

"Yeah, you wouldn't be so talky with a cock in your mouth, would you faggot?"

"…_Should be the last day for rain for at least a week. There's going to be a dry spell…"_

"Oh, _thank you_, Jesus..."

Not that the rain bothered the man that much- he'd lived with it all his life. Though he was getting tired of coming home dripping wet every day. He was already sick once earlier in September, he didn't really feel like going through it again.

He would have made coffee, if not for the fact that he would be running late if he had to wait for it to properly brew. Blake could down a good three cups, practically lathered in cream in sugar. Deep down he had a sweet tooth. Easily understood by his dentist who put a whopping six fillings in his teeth. Yet he decided against it, and instead figured he'd get his caffeine fix at work, even if their machine produced some pretty horrible brew at times.

Finishing said breakfast quickly, he shoved the last bit of toast in his mouth and stood up, putting the glass and dish in the sink. He rinsed off the remnants of his meal, then cleaned his hands quickly as he made to shut the TV off, checking to make sure everything was situated properly so he could leave. Grabbing his coat, he slung it on and opened the door, bombarded by the now cold air.

'_Nice. Shitty weather again in eastern Pennsylvania, why am I not surprised?"_

Easily below forty or so degrees, he braced for the cold as he pulled his coat extra-tight, making sure no early snow-flurries were making their early start downwards. (Not that he would be surprised at all.) Getting in his cold car, times like this he wished he had remembered the fact he had an automatic starter in the three-year old Ford Taurus SHO. The weather didn't get to him that bad, but after going from warm, humid weather the day previous…He had been momentarily spoiled and didn't want to admit it.

Getting into the icebox of a car, he grumbled in exertion as he felt his body sink into the leather seats below him. It was his particular favorite fabric, and when given the option he chose it over anything resembling the average soft, man-made cloth. Turning the key and shifting gears, he put his arm around the back seat (never trusting the mirrors entirely over his own eyes) and backing out of his driveway, waiting for a singular slow car to make it's way past his particular exiting point.

"Move it, you fuck'n' asshole!" He yelled, throwing his hands up in the air in a mock gesture of confusion.

Sighing in frustration as it finally made it's way past, he pulled out in a simply unnecessary display of speed as he spun the wheel and drove away down the road. Everything went swimmingly until he suddenly remembered he was driving on the "E" for the past couple days, and the "bing" went off, light going on as it tried to tell him he needed to get gas, and soon. Otherwise he'd be walking to work. As it stood, he was still a good three miles from the station. He didn't want to risk it.

Looking around, he tried his best to remember the closest gas station. There was a Sunoco not far from where the precinct was located. He made his way through a few green lights that saved him some time- then pulled in. Luckily for him, there was an empty spot where he could pull his car without waiting for some dip-shit taking his time filling up.

Pulling close enough, he looked back to align his car with the pump, putting the car in park and getting out with a groan. Walking over, he took out his leather gloves, stretching them over his calloused hands. He removed the cover, then the cap, taking the nozzle and making sure to get the regular, noting the ridiculous price of a singular gallon as he watched the amount of his bill go up too quick for his liking.

He leaned back against the car, taking a deep breath as he tried to calm his nerves. He was thankful that it had stopped raining for the time being. Though it was still cold and miserable out in the city of brotherly love. Blake people-watched for a few minutes, his normal, highly-observational talent coming into play as he saw the citizens of the universally smeared city walk in and out of the gas station's convenience store.

It was then that he ran his hand through his graying, course hair, looking over at kid about twenty or so lighting up just outside the shop's doors. Immediately he got that craving, and realized there was nothing more he'd like then a good smoke to calm him down.

'_Except I'm out. _Carter reminded himself. '_Good thing I fucking remembered.'_

The pump stopped with a very audible "clink" as it reminded him the tank was full. His gaze shooting on over to follow the noise, he proceeded to get up and make his way towards the pump, pulling it out and replacing it. His mind began to wonder subconsciously, reminding himself that tomorrow was Norman's funeral. God, that came up fast. He told himself he had two days back when the order was given, and like that, he'd be going home tonight and would have to have his suit ready first thing in the morning.

'_FUCK.' _He swore mentally, almost loud enough he's swear he heard it.

That's right. He didn't have one. Well okay, he _did_. That was until last year's Christmas party, Ash and him had gotten a little too fucked up. He could remember having every sort of alcohol known to man spilled on it- which was bad enough. Then they had done some weird shit- driving to the outskirts of town in an attempt to…Wait, what the fuck were they doing? At one point, he fell in some mud and probably pissed himself from a bladder full of alcohol like the drunken asshole he was. Needless to say, he just threw it away when he woke up in it sleeping inside a car…That wasn't his.

The one thing he remembered was Ash was laughing his fucking ass off- and slipped on the same muddy hillside- Jesus Christ- they did some stupid shit when they were drunk. Even more then the usual person, Carter's defenses went down and his inwardly playful nature finally reared it's head. Only possible when the liquor dulled and calmed his normally rigid nature. The veil lifted, the heavy wall felled.

Smiling awkwardly at the memory, he finished replacing the gas cap and cover, then made his way to the small convenience store to pay. He remembered one of his first calls- somebody was shot right outside. They didn't think it was a failed robbery or anything pertaining to it. Just some random poor bastard, wrong place, wrong time. He looked down as if remembering exactly where the blood stain from the broken skull used to lay, jumping onto the curb as he stuffed his hands deep into his pockets.

Opening the label-strewn doors that plainly announced they took all the cards- as well as checks- he felt the oddly cool air of the store on his face. It was a chain place, and therefore lacked the grittiness of a locally-owned business. Eyes fell on him as if he was a stranger in a strange land, an obese woman in the corner with her equally obese child mulled over which chips they wanted, and some leather-clad biker prowled the magazines as he shot the cop a nasty look. Blake searched his memory banks, pondering if he'd ever had to deal with this particular skin-head's bullshit in the past. Then he decided it wasn't worth the thought process, and dropped it. Instead he returned the heated gazes, clenching his jaw as he approached the counter.

Well, at least the girl at the register looked decent. Blake had a similar talent to Jayden, he knew people. Though, in a totally different, almost abstract way. A way that neither would ever hope to grasp about each other. Jayden could see into people's minds, the way their brain was hardwired, functioned, what it was capable of. If Jayden saw a slightly disturbed but innocent man, Blake instead saw what he wanted to. A culprit, a scapegoat. Something to make all this shit go away so his precinct could be back to it's good old ways, could get rid of the pain-in-the-ass profiler and continue following his own code of extremely bent morals.

Instead, the lieutenant and what he knew about people was based off of pure experience, brought by his perilous, harsh life's journey coupled even worse by his maturity. He'd seen the people that did those things, the heavily tattooed, pierced whites, the minorities and the crack-whore prostitutes- the poor. Yet what he saw wasn't so much how they were all the same- as much as they were all different. They were all sinners, sure, all capable of doing something to make _his _life all the more difficult. Yet one struggling drug dealer was always different then the next. It was in those differences, he discovered, that would be the key to finding the right man. Or woman, as rare as that was.

At first glance he could tell you if you looked guilty or not, what you did on the side and _how _you did it. He recognized the look in you're eyes when you were lying, covering up, feeling guiltier then sin. Most of the time it was easy- most of the time it was fucking boring. He had put away pure and utter human shit; never a day going by where he regretted the decisions he made. Then there were cases like these, hard to come by, but not fun at all. Goddamn frustrating. Confusing to his system of order he so delicately instructed inside his seizing moral compass.

Ethan Mars looked and acted guilty the minute he saw him. Acted suspiciously- something Jayden seemed to overlook in his complex analysis. Even in the interrogation room- oh he _believed _Ethan when he said he loved his son…He just didn't particularly care. Didn't really give a shit when cold hard facts existed to prove his point. There was something incredibly fucked up about Mars- something he still believed to be true, even if the man was being steadily proven innocent while being held at the precinct. He still felt the beat-down he administered was appropriate, even if everything Mars did screamed at him that he really _didn't _know where he was being held. Ethan's eyes, his body language, his goddamn _words_, told him he knew more then what had been said. He had confessed to kidnapping his son. What more evidence did he need-

Christ, even after the case was being unraveled, he still was going off about the trials. He had yet to visit any of them personally, though he had dispatched Ash to the "Butterfly Trial" as Mars had called it. None of them had the balls to actually crawl into the tunnel of strewn glass- they were supposedly going to get one of those bendable cameras on a wire in there. There was going to be a long- ass time between now and whenever this case was finally wrapped up. All the while his office would be busy as sin; dealing with the rest of this case as others continued to pour in.

He inhaled the unnaturally-cooled air around him as he stood in front of the counter, getting his wallet out from his side pocket. Though inside his head the tick-tock of his gear-like mind churned- it ate away at his insides, at his massive ego- of the revelation that he had been wrong. That Mars was not only not the Origami Killer, but may well hadn't been guilty of anything at all. Not even a possible accomplice, which was his next angle. He couldn't help himself- he was a man that never let anything go.

The girl at the register gave him a brief glance, her mascara-packed eyelashes smeared, her face fallen and tired, indicating to the lieutenant that she had long finished the concept of being cordial to the customers. She gave an impatient stare as she tried to crack a smile when their eyes locked, trying her best not to complain about her current situation. Her plain-Jane brown hair parted at both sides as they fell down each side of her face, framing it oddly as her greenish-brown eyes seemed to have trouble focusing.

"Hi." She tried, and when she talked she flashed the green-accented bar in her tongue. It told the lieutenant a wealth of possible things- but mostly that she very well may have liked to suck cock. The ring in her mouth being perfect for stroking up and down a man's sensitive tissue. Yet his eyes shot from the object in the young teen-something's mouth, and back to her tired, dark eyes. Like all men- he instantly evaluated the girl for fucking, and deemed her do-able. Yet his middle-aged mind steered him away, back towards work. The split-second, instinctive decision went barely unnoticed even to the observant cop.

"Twenty on nine- a pack of Pall Mall reds, too…Please."

His tone was low, more business then a kind question. Yet the girl didn't seem to care, turning around and finding the pack of smokes as she walked to the right and reached up, sliding it out. She flung the pack over to him on the other side, ringing him up and taking his fifty-dollar bill. Not even bothering to check it for counterfeit, she checked him out and gave back his change and a receipt.

Checking the time briefly on his gold watch, he sauntered out the doors and made his way back to the car. The rain was starting up a little again, but nowhere near as bad as the days previous. It felt like years ago, not days. Not a week ago that Norman walked into his life and changed it, almost permanently. When he died, it opened something up that still made his heart race with a sort of proverbial fear- a fear of the unknown and what it held. One would think a man like Carter would be immune to feelings of helplessness, of being so insignificant in the grand scheme of the cosmos. Yet the bigger he felt in this 'game' was playing, the more _worried _he found himself- the easier he realized he could be toppled if he wasn't too careful.

He was dabbling in something he didn't quite grasp- putting the car in drive and accelerating quickly out of the pumps and into traffic, speeding away as he made his way back to the station. Though yesterday had been so oddly casual he wondered if it all really happened. Was he just losing it? Was Norman even real? Wasn't he dead, being buried tomorrow in Washington? Oh, and wouldn't he be attending? He almost felt as though any minute, it was all going to be exposed to him as one big trick, and he'd look like the biggest fucking asshole there ever was. Though he had to admit- if that was true- being given a blowjob wasn't really the best way to play a 'trick' on him. Wouldn't it have to be the other way around?

Blake wasn't one to mull over 'mysteries of the universe', so he really didn't. It was one of the few times when he actually even entertained the concept that there was something bigger and more powerful out there then the powers-that-be. Yet he pushed those thoughts deep down inside him, not one to grow anxious and let trivial things weigh him down, wasting his precious time. Entering the garage, he parked easily in one of the closest spaces to the elevator, fitting easily into his marked parking spot with the blue-and-silver reflective sign declaring his name and status.

Off-handedly, he reached for the glasses in his jacket, the ARI system and it's pent-up abilities nestled snugly against his blue shirt and rubbing slightly against his chest. He sighed in content as he felt better, knowing they were safe. Such a feeling wasn't notable until it dawned on him. Since when did he even need them? Why did he even bring it? It made his hair stand on end, coming up slightly on the back of his thick neck. He stepped out of the car, grumbling at another coming shift at work- yet felt a sort of rising excitement at starting another day in the crux of power.

"Lieutenant Carter Blake…Sir?"

There was a chill that penetrated his face the most, spreading down into his neck and body. He turned around hesitantly, oddly enough, he already predicted who would be standing there in the dark. Not _who _exactly, he wasn't a psychic. The fancy shoes on cement- the almost hot-shot gait and arrogance walking about on two legs. He thought of Norman instinctively, but knew better. Not to mention, there were more then one.

Two men, one appearing about his age or even older then him and slightly tan- his almost black eyes meant it was hard to tell what he was looking at- they gleamed under the dull florescent lights that shone from above. His hair was insanely short- cut that way, it appeared. A cross between a shave-down and places and a crew-cut. The actual color a mix of gray and dark chocolate brown.

His features were balanced, though his nose was slightly bigger then average and his mouth-creases exceedingly deep. A very slight cleft to his upper lip. Above all, his ears seemed determined to want to stick away from the sides of his face. Those dark eyes set deep in his face, frighteningly slanted- though not in the typical Asian manner and more like a permanent squint, an affixation of his surroundings. Deep creases set in his forehead, a chin sharply protruding downward from his mid-sized lips. He appeared to keep himself dutifully clean-shaven. Not to mention he had a good few inches of height on the lieutenant.

Blake was reminded of an older, rather intimidated version of Jayden - how he kept his hands at his sides, a solemn and professional tone to his voice. The man to his left was younger, wearing sunglasses with a piece in his ear, a curled wire leading into the hearing-aid-looking device in the canal. The glasses hid his eyes, the most identifying feature -and turned him into a ghost of sorts, it was obvious he was there for protection and nothing more. He was unusually pale and had thin lips, and slicked back blonde hair. He looked unusually bland yet attentive, and it made the lieutenant a bit uneasy in the sense that he seemed completely aware of every breath he took. Staring at him as though he was a sheet of glass- straight into his eyes and out the back of his head.

"Rick Crawford, FBI." He introduced, showing his badge briefly. Just enough so Blake, who's lips were slightly pursed in surprise, the "FBI" on the badge then flipped it back to his pocket. It displayed to the cop a conceited attitude, a desire to rather be somewhere else. A bored look remained on the agent's face, sighing as his expression never changed. His tall blond-haired Aryan companion looking only slightly off into the corner.

"We have reason to believe you've been withholding information from us, Mr. Blake." The man said, in a perfect English accent like one would hear from the movies. Not some breed of Cockney, not slurred or spat- but rather extremely professional. Almost as if he was in fact trying to hide it. Briefly locking eyes with the black-suited man, he scowled as his lip drew down and teeth showed.

"…I don't like being snuck up on like this…" Blake said, his mouth finally uttering words after looking around quickly to make sure the garage was empty, knowing he was late and therefore mostly everyone was inside already who was supposed to be there.

"Quite 'alright sir, would you like to… go to your office and discus this? I do apologize- We had to arrive right away, 'didn't have time to schedule an appointment. We were quite positive you'd be busy as it was."

A slight laugh finished the sentence, the very corners of his mouth raising in an attempt to calm their carefully studied subject.

Blake's mouth refused to work, and he had to pause as he laughed a little in his throat and looked away briefly, his the heart in his chest accelerating quickly and body tingling a bit in the anxiety he claimed he never had.

"'The fuck do you want?" He spoke, the fear shining through despite his best of intentions. He spat the order, on his face a contorted expression of hatred for the Fed interrupting his already stressful day.

The agent hesitated a bit in surprise, not believing a police "lieutenant", a servant of the public in the great city of Philadelphia and the state of Pennsylvania - could act that way- completely unprofessional and rather selfish, using quite course and vulgar language.

"Well, pardon me for askin', sir. But we do need your assistance with closing Agent Jayden's case file."

Carter actually felt his cheeks heat up for a quarter-second, then looked away to the left as he exhaled and gathered his breath, heart still going like a jackhammer.

"…yeah. One of your buddies, right?"

"Actually, no. I rarely saw Mr. Jayden. We talked a few times and offered him my assistance- we never really got the chance to work on a case together. 'Was a fine agent, from what I understand it, and a respectable man. He will be missed- and I'm sorry for the loss. I know you two helped identify the Origami Killer-"

"Actually, I barely knew the up- stuck son-of-a-bitch. I did most of the work as he fucked' 'round with his outer-space glasses or whatever the hell_-"_

"Oh, so you saw him using the ARI-"

"Listen, Mr.…Crawford, I don't know- I don't care- I know about it- yeah. But I didn't care, I didn't pay attention- I just know that he's dead. Fuck'n about to be buried. What's this all about?" He breathed, body heating up as he took a step or two towards the pair, the pale man not even reacting to his approach.

There was a brief second, and he noticed every look the agent gave to his partner. Noticed it so easily because he recognized it so well. The shoe was instantly on the other foot and it made him sick with the hopelessness it granted. It was the same look he remembered giving Ash when he interviewed Mars- a look of knowing more then he was letting on. Of being bull-shat too. He silently inhaled at the realization- he never had to be on the other side. He was a good liar, could and did get himself out of the worst of the most possible offenses, before he even entertained the idea of being a cop- except this wasn't what he was used to. This was the federal government. This wasn't his job on the line, this was his livelihood an ability to ever exist in society ever again.

"_Holed' up in a federal prison for life…" _He briefly considered, the fear clutching at his lower torso as he visibly inhaled some air, taking his time letting it out of his nostrils. Thumbing his nose with his thumb, he inhaled deeply again and let it out slowly as he gathered his thoughts.

"Really? You saw the ARI system? We were lead to believe Agent Jayden was never allowed to let others see the program outside it's conventional use- did you see him with it alone?"

'_Son of a bitch! They know more then they're letting on…' _Carter finally knew what it was like to be in the interrogation seat, and was hoping against everything he knew to be logical that they didn't apply his own methods to the situation.

"Well, then I guess your boy fucked up. I saw him a few times, yeah."

Blake wanted to kick his own crotch at his sudden pacified attitude- since when did he give into anything? Since when did he give a shit? Since when-

'_Since you started accepting head from a dead FBI agent.' _His subconscious reached his logical, waking thoughts. _'They fuck'n know someth'n. Don't be stupid. You can get out of this free, in cuffs…Or dead. Which is it?'_

There was a pregnant pause- the agent before him seemed to analyze the lieutenant with frightening eyes. The air that surrounded them was heavy, laden with more then just moisture from the rain. The Fed's eyes remained free of his thoughts; and as he locked eyes with Carter- he could tell the man wasn't used to this sort of questioning.

Men of his stature found themselves rarely in the hot seat, and from his own analysis he had found out that Lieutenant Blake was more then just a top-ranking officer that had come highly recommended by his peers-Oh no, he had several cases of police battery charges brought against him, only to be swept under the rug or paid off under the table. They knew where he lived, went to school, what his work schedule was like, where and how his parents died- they knew the exact date his great-great grandparents crossed the ocean and entered Ellis Island. And those didn't even take but a few seconds of digging- a few minutes more and they knew things that would make the average, private United States citizen fearful about picking up a phone or walking out their front door.

He was a natural born liar, and this agent made a lifetime out of dragging confessions out of so called liars-by-trade. Yet this was something new, Blake seemed genuinely cautious of the two men, and was doing his best to hide it. It was a worthwhile effort, controlling his breathing and taking up a defensive posture, but his eyes were giving him away. Looking in all the wrong places as they shifted around too much, looking up to the corners and fidgeting with his hands.

Taking the dirty cop into custody would have been his own plan- That was, if it was up to him. Taking the cuffs that dangled at his belt- clanking and ringing like a melancholy song he so loved- and slapping them on his wrists as he wrenched his arms into position behind his back- oh that would have made his day. He started this career purely for this reason- and he loved nothing better then turning some righteous asshole like this in. Though they didn't want Blake for his behavior, they wanted him because they never found the ARI on Agent Jayden's body. Or at least, that's what they had told him.

Yet these weren't his orders, unless the man wanted to turn himself in. This was his chance, and he would have been given a less severe sentence if he was smart enough to do it. That rarely ever happened, however. It didn't surprise him, everybody wanted a free ride. Everybody wanted to fuck over the United States Government. They always seemed to forget how much power they had, how they could make a man disappear and convince everyone he associated with, that he simply never existed. Perhaps just took a walk one day and never showed up. A missing person like all the others that was simply never found. All in a matter of hours.

"I understand, sir." The agent next to him held a hand to his ear piece, leaning over, whispering something as Crawford leaned in to hear it. Turning away from Blake, he returned something inaudible to the culprit's ears, bending his neck to display a blotched scar at the top of his neck, under the jaw. A scar Blake recognized as a failed jugular slash. It only made him feel more pathetic. These agents weren't like Norman, beauracratic head-case assholes. These were professionals in making people gone from the face of the Earth.

'_I'm fucked.' _Blake breathed in, discharging the air as he sought to work up his courage. The air came out in a growl that got both of their attention.

"Are we done 'fuck'n around?" He spoke with an edge of warning. Like a rattlesnake going off before it strikes.

"I'm already late- My partner's gonna be looking for _and _calling my ass. You wouldn't want him walking in on our private conversation now, would we?"

For a moment Blake thought he had the upper hand, felt his pride coming back in a flush. That feeling would have remained if the agent didn't seem at all fazed, his expression stone as he checked the Rolex on his wrist, eyebrows furrowing as his companion scanned the surroundings.

"Well I suppose we kept you long enough, lieutenant." He said as he strolled forward suddenly, and it took everything he had for Carter not to take a step back in surprise. Rick's hand went into his pocket, and for a frightening second Carter seriously thought it would be the last sight he'd ever see- some prick from Washington would take him out in a parking garage swarming with cops, yet nobody would ever know- they'd confiscate the video-

A business card was held out, and he hesitated before reaching up and wrenching it from it's master's hand.

"Call me if you remember anything 'sir? This is still an open investigation. I believe I'll…See you at his funeral, tomorrow?"

Carter's mouth went dry, and he opened his sticky lips to talk, only finding a cry of surprise to replace it before the words found their way out.

"Uhhhh- Yeah, yeah. I'll be there."

"Excellent! Well I'll see you then." A shit-eating grin filled the agent's face. He turned and strode away, his companion giving the lieutenant one final glance before following. Hearing their expensive shoes echoing in the familiar garage. Carter stood motionless for a few minutes, fearful electricity running up and down his spine.

'_Shit. SHIT.'_

As calmly as he could, Blake turned around and jogged to the red elevators. It wasn't until then that he noticed a few other fellow officers walking laterally to their cars from the right side, probably returning from a call. The agents didn't leave because they were done speaking with him- they left because other people were coming. Something told the worried cop that they weren't finished. Most likely they'd wait until he was alone and off him-

'_Carter, goddamn it. You're better then this. If they wanted to off you, you'd be dead. Maybe they really did just want to ask you- No. No they didn't. They would have made an appointment with you like a normal fucking person. Not cornered you in a parking 'gar'ag. It was a scare tactic, they didn't want anybody to be around- the video. I gotta get a copy of it- Shit, that won't make a difference. They're Feds, anything they do will be perfectly legal-'_

For a moment, Carter considered this. He was on the receiving end of his own personal brand of justice, and he didn't like it. It made him feel emasculated, less of a man. He hit the button to call the elevator, craning his short neck upward as he exposed his large jugular to the red doors. He watched as it ticked down, coming closer. Swallowing, he wet his lips, then swallowed nervously, turning his head to make sure nobody was behind him. Then he head them open, and his heart skipped a beat as he looked inside. Half-expecting them to be filled with Feds- then to have his face full of buckshot- or rather, maybe a single pistol-shot to the head with a silencer- he breathed a sigh of relief and entered the dingy, mildew rank space. Empty, as they usually were.

Pent up like a caged animal, he let out the terrifying growl that he had been holding in. Despite the slight rock of the elevator, he stomped about and seethed violently as he paced to and fro. Showing his teeth at the reflective walls, he snarled and chewed at a non-existent bit as it lowered and rose in his throat. Then he coursed all this anger into a punch, his fist sunk itself into the side of the elevator's walls. It bounced back quickly- the aluminum making up the elevator releasing a dull 'thud' yet resisting mere flesh. He didn't feel any pain right then, only a stinging as it throbbed in his knuckles. If anything was broken, he wouldn't know yet. Shaking his hand in the air as he tested his fingers, he bit his own lip and chewed for satisfaction.

Inside his gloves, he felt his hands continue to grow clammy. Sweating in their restraints and making the leather outside just as slippery. Inside his chest, his massive heart didn't let up as it pounded away, toughened by years of hard weight-lifting and general exhaustion. Perhaps it was genetic advantage- but it was the only thing keeping his hard lifestyle from killing him. Pushing it to the edge like this. Yet it hammered, hungry for more blood to pump- angry with vibrant red as it pushed oxygen filled cells to their destination.

Blake broke out in a small sweat, and for moment he felt lightheaded. There was a frightful few seconds when he thought maybe he had let himself get too worked up again, just like that day he saw Jayden for the first time. Then he realized this had nothing to do with his blood pressure- Christ, it wasn't even _that _high, unlikely to cause this. He looked down, now noticing that his hands shook violently. Eyes widening, he held up his left palm and stripped it of it's glove, having some trouble with it's fast, uncontrollable movement- but the sweat helped it's separation.

The hand moved violently- the more he tried to stop it, the worse it got. Reaching up, he took his left wrist in his right, trying his best to control it as the doors opened. Yet the pain began to form in his knuckles; wincing only slightly as he stepped out and entered the precinct.

Eyes fell on him momentarily. A few low-ranking officers that met his warped, pale stare and looked away as their interest waned. Carter rarely showed compassion towards others- they weren't about ready to return a favor never deserved of him. A receptionist looked up and squinted her tired eyes at the man, puzzled by the lieutenant's suddenly weakened state. She stared longest of all, not even turning away her gaze when he returned the deathly stare the officer's eyes were sending her way.

His head leveled with the ground momentarily, dipping it as he held his other ungloved hand close to his body. Now he could feel his whole body going at it- and with every other step he felt his legs jerk up or towards the floor, finding it difficult to walk in a straight line.

'_Bathroom, bathroom… bathroom!' _

It was his only solution, like a beacon of hope towards the other side of the massive room. He squinted as he narrowed his eyes towards the corner- telling himself if he could just get there, get some privacy, he could calm himself down. This was new, this wasn't even remotely normal. If felt more like symptoms he'd seen in victims of drug withdrawals. The strongest drug he'd ever indulged in had been acid back in the day- and the occasional pot he'd get from a kid he knew years ago. Christ, he hadn't done an uncontrolled substance like that in nearly thirty years.

He was no druggie- far from it. Pot wasn't habit forming, didn't cause withdrawals. The acid he did all those years ago didn't seem to have any effect besides some horribly bad trips he had a few nightmares about. He had seen the result of alcohol and drug addictions; seen it's victims before and after heading to the hospital or morgue. Carter didn't have to glance in a mirror to realize he must have looked the same.

Blake moved quickly, head down and body tense as he made a beeline for the bathroom in the back. He just prayed to everything holy that Perry or Ash hadn't noticed his entrance, couldn't see him barreling through the crowd to reach the bathroom as though he had some sort of 'problem' in that particular area and had to relieve it fast.

"Lieutenant!" He heard Ash's voice call, and he tried his best not to turn around and face the lankier, taller man in grey as he heard the chair squeak, standing up and jogging his way.

'_Godammit! __**God damnit**__-'_

"Blake! What the hell's going on, you're late- you didn't answer any of my calls…" The detective tried again, walking faster as his voice was still underneath the level of busy noise in the cluttered workspace. He pushed past a few officers, including a female who gawked openly for having her breasts rudely bumped into.

"Leave- me - _alone_, Ash!" He called out, walking faster as he saw the doors in sight. They may had well been glowing in a heavenly light.

"I'm gonna be sick again- we'll talk _later_!"

Ash stopped in his tracks. It was enough to convince him, seeing as Carter had indeed been acting strangely lately. Though he _had_ sounded good last night. Jolly even. Carter, jolly? Christ, that was like meeting Hitler on a good day and telling everyone he 'wasn't such a bad guy.' Seeing him so pale and sickly, not to mention rushing to the bathroom convinced him he must have had some sort of bug. A bug _he _needed to _not _catch. He was lucky all these years working with a man who almost never got sick, not having to pick up the lieutenant's slack. Yet lately things had been unusual about the man. A man he swore he knew.

'_Ever since he tried those glasses-'_

Some people are shocked when they realize something absolutely groundbreaking. Something that was sitting right there the whole time as it awkwardly kept it's place right in front of you. Instead, what the talented detective did was internally click into gear like a massive machine starting to turn. Ever since Carter tried the ARI system - which had once belonged to Norman, he hadn't been himself at all. The Lieutenant Blake he knew would have flew out of the house when they discovered Shelby's body, or even the massacre at Kramer's estate. Instead he complained about being bothered…From what?

Blake was a bachelor just like him, married to his career- to this lifestyle. One of power, of complete dominion. He couldn't have that if he had a wife. And if he wanted a woman instead, controlling her would most likely send him to jail and her to the ER. Instead he took that carnivorous attitude and put it to good application. Often, he would catch that predatory lust in his eyes when things began to heat up with a suspect, or even talking to somebody on the phone when the conversation grew nasty. It worked well, because a very sadistic streak in the detective found it rather entertaining. It's why they made such a good pair. One can only achieve evil if another is willing to stand by and let it come to fruition. Like a child playing with matches only to burn down his whole goddamn house. It would have to be quelled in order to stop- Blake was a fire he rather enjoyed watching burn.

It's why Norman became such a pain in the ass. He was like a good little fireman- trying to put out the blaze all by himself, only to realize it had been burning far too long. They were going to need a hell of a lot more then that, and even then Ash wondered silently if it would amount to much. Carter was unstoppable, almost being taken to court on numerous occasions only to have his name cleared of anything resembling misconduct. It was like the cop had a horseshoe up his ass, able to walk through the flames only to come out pristine and untouched on the other side.

Those non-existent shackles, chains and fetters that the Feds were trying to impose by sending good little Norman were gone… So, really Carter didn't have a reason to act so strange. The man lived to work, not work to live. Since when did he have anything worth staying at home for?

Sitting back down in his office chair as he watched Blake depart hastily into the bathroom, Ash pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. Something was absolutely going on here; something was taking the time he had with his fellow co-worker, his practical other half. They worked well together, and now that some unknown entity was stealing his attention, he couldn't help but feel insanely jealous. Was that some concern, too? He wasn't sure. In the end, he didn't particularly like the feeling well, making him sense the closeness of another man that he didn't actually enjoy. Blake was an acquired taste, and he was still in the 'acquiring' state for the past twenty-some years he'd known him.

Wincing as he felt his left arm light on fire- or rather feel like it, he rotated it in it's socket as he bit down on his lower lip in an attempt to satiate his desire to quell it. Breathing out a hard gasp of air, he reached into his desk and pulled out his bottle of store-brand aspirin as he cranked open the top and chewed it- despite being the sort you're supposed to swallow. Making a face of disgust, he still got it down and gave a shaky sigh as he laid back, resisting the urge to scrape his tongue against his upper teeth to relieve the taste.

Instead, he sought to hope for the medicine to start working again soon. His eyes craned back to the door, licking the outside of his teeth as he contemplated the situation, then taking the lone pencil and tapping it against the desk nonchalantly. He made a face of irritation as his amber, caramel-colored eyes blankly focused, staring but not looking. A concoction of various theories interchanged, intertwined in a storm of activity behind them. For a moment he reached up, letting his thin fingers trace the crease in his chin- his lower lip becoming a new victim of his thought process, chewing it softly.

It was then when he got the idea. Acting quickly, he shifted forward in the seat making it squeak horribly. Looking quickly to the door; he made to open up a writing program in the department's strict software programs. James Ash jotted down the current date, the time; all exact and down to the seconds that still mechanically ticked away. He noted Carter's activity, his appearance, his words. Then he went back, trying in vain to recall his exact phrases and actions from yesterday, and the day before that. Including and right up to finding him with the glasses. Sooner or later, he knew, it would all come together and he'd find out what exactly the lieutenant was trying to hide from him.

'_After all these years, I really thought you'd know better.'_

Continuing to write, the pain in his arm began to lessen as it was given purpose.


	10. Cool Air

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, and sex between two men. (In later chapters.) **

Author's Note: **Wow. I took wayyyy too long this time! Shit, I'm sorry. I mean that, too. I know when someone takes forever to update I'm normally chomping at the bit until it happens- at least I have an actual excuse! This chapter was intended to be much longer, but I sought to cut it up in able to get something to you faster. The next chapter WILL include more 'action', and it's already almost done. So hang tight. Pun intended. ;)**

* * *

**_If you had the time to lose,  
An open mind and time to choose.  
Would you care to take a look?  
Or can you read me like a book?_**

**_Can I tempt you, come with me.  
Be Devil may care, fulfill your dream.  
If I said I'd take you there,  
Would you go, would you be scared?  
_****_  
Don't be afraid, you're safe with me.  
Safe as any soul can be._**

_**Like a wolf in sheep's clothing,**_  
_**you try to hide your deepest sins.**_  
_**Of all the things that you've done wrong,**_  
_**and I know where you belong.**_

**_-_**_"__Caught Somewhere In Time" Iron Maiden_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

It took everything in him not to heave up that morning's breakfast. Good for him; he didn't. Holding it down in the recesses of his gut, he leaned over the sink as he mirrored the scene from that Saturday before. He recalled now what he did back then, wondering what was wrong with him. Now knowing it wasn't anxiety alone, though he had to admit the agents did get him worked up. For the few times in his life when he was terrified, he never recalled acting anywhere like this. Never felt like he did now; that he was going to keel over at any minute- ready for the oblong box.

Yet something told him he wasn't going to die. Not like this. His body and mind too set on living, simply unwilling to go. Like it's owner, when his body made a decision it tended to stick with it. He made a low, disgusted growl as he spun the taps desperately, hearing them creak a little then give way as he washed his face, splashing the liquid three times in total as he rubbed his eyes and slicked the water through his hair.

Pressing it down like a 50's greaser, he tried his best to hide his sick and weak complexion. Catching his face in the reflection, he leaned in closer and studied the bags under his eyes, sighing as he noted their size and color. The dark circles that lay there had seemed to grow since this morning. Odd, considering he actually slept straight through the whole night.

He held there for a few more minutes, his arms resting on the sink as he stared down into the drain. The faucet leaked slightly, sending drop after drop down into the abyss below it, filling the empty room with a small echo. Sniffling a few times, he noted that he finally stopped shaking. It took much longer then he thought. Standing up as straight as he could, a crack resounded in his wide back that made him cringe. A warm, almost soothing feeling replaced the momentary pain. Perhaps a blood vessel that decided to finally break or relocate itself? It would be his fucking luck to have to see a chiropractor after all this, all thanks to that little prick from Washington-

A gruff, angry growl started in his throat, and It worked it's way out of his lips as he bent back down. His head had begun to spin; he'd need another few minutes yet. He was just gracious nobody had come in to bother him so far. Thanking God (not that he believed in one in the slightest since he was twenty-two) that Ash had left him be; he really didn't need to see him shaking like a fucking tree- eyes bloodshot like he just got done sniffing a mountain of cocaine.

Carter rose his head again, pushing himself up with his arms to see how sickly his face was this time-

"_**Holy fuck!-"**_

Norman stood there- glancing at him with surprise in the mirror. He seemed to have the same reaction, taking a step back from the lieutenant as his eyes widened and body tugged backward as if shot. His pouty lips quivered as he hurdled backwards, falling into a stall as he struggled to hold onto something - instead slamming into the tile below and nearly missing the porcelain toilet behind him that could have easily dented in his skull.

Carter's heart leapt in his throat again, accelerating wildly as it pumped hormones into his blood to get him into a flight-or-fight mode. Turning about-face, his back hit the sinks as he breathed out in heavy bouts; feeling the desire to pass out again looming on the horizon. Instead, he strained as he tried to calm down, lifting his heavy head up then letting it fall back down, eyelids opening the whole way as he struggled to catch his breathing. He heard the sound of the agent groaning and skittering as he attempted to stand up on the dirty bathroom floor.

Rising to his feet, Jayden used the door to the stall to pull himself up. He gasped out a breath of shock and irritation, not at all expecting to see Blake yet. Just hours ago, he found himself waking up on Mars. Fine enough, then he began to walk through the Martian landscape out of pure curiosity. Despite wishing for his house in Martha's Vineyard to pop up, it wasn't. Which was odd, because this was the first time his subconscious desires were ignored. He found his jacket and pants discarded among the landscape, assuming them to be the previous location in Blake's home's layout. It was odd and almost disconcerting. His physical effects were manifestations of this world.

In the distance, he saw an object. Not a rock- not like the others amongst the other swirling red clouds, and that's what intrigued him. The closer he got, he began to come under the realization that it was a building. Picking up the pace, he felt his heart rate increase at the exertion, panting and running as he somehow felt something tugging him forward. Something that felt as though it was watching and willing his every movement.

It was a sensation that crawled up his legs and nestled in his back, in his belly, in his head. Despite the cold of Mars, he knew the chill that crept all over had little to do with the simulation and more to do with whatever sort of alternate reality he'd fallen into. A wave of intense relief washed over the young man as he finally reached the front door. It was a large, squat grey building. Odd, as it was perfectly clean and seemed oddly symmetrical. Buildings never looked this perfect anywhere, not even when they're freshly built.

The door stared at him with a sort of ominous, revolting expectation. It was then that Norman's heart quivered in his chest, and grasped the cold hard reality as it dawned on him- it resembled the door of the bathroom in the police precinct in Philadelphia. A strange thing to remember, and indeed he never would have recognized it if he'd hadn't used it so many times while on the Origami Killer case, a refuge he used only hours before his death. He didn't know why or how he remembered- perhaps it was better if he didn't. At this understanding, he looked back up and furrowed his brow as the "MEN" sign was now there; forming only when his gaze was away. It made a chill form in the middle of his back.

'_I'm dead and walk'eng around in a post-mortem dream world and this is what bothers you, Norman?' _He chided himself.

It wasn't so much _that _as it was the feeling coming in behind him. He took a deep breath as a few stray tears found themselves in the corner of his eyes. The sense of dread was overwhelming, crushing his sensensions and filling him with terror. He turned around and saw nothing, just the bare landscape of Mars. Empty land, a red Martian world as far as he could see. Wind swept the sand, throwing it into massive clouds that had little effect on him- he was leaning with the wind, not against it.

That feeling only seemed to get worse, and he had to sharply inhale as the foreboding seemed to bury his will, literally powering him forward to open the door. He took it a as a sign, perhaps an instinct? Either way, he couldn't take it much longer. It was making him sick. He needed to press on. Who knew what might be in this building? This was all new, and it was all getting to be both disturbing- and therefore oddly fascinating to the curious mind he possessed. That deep, powerful desire of a living thing to explore its surroundings.

Cautiously, he pushed it open and found himself in an exact copy of the precinct's bathroom. Like always, it seemed empty, the small echo of a drop of water hitting the bowl beneath it. Taking a few steps, he slowly made his way into the familiar territory, a warning tingle of danger making its way about his back. That's when he could swear he heard the sound of water splashing, of a muffled groan and a familiar voice. Terror clutched his system once more as the lights flickered and buzzed, going out momentarily before shaking and turning back on. Turning about, he looked towards the sinks-

Carter stood there, looking into the mirror- staring at himself through it. Locking eyes in the reflection.

"_**Holy fuck!-"**_

The exclamation wasn't nearly as loud as he'd heard from before. Still, it shook Norman, not so much by the words and force used, but by his extremely sudden appearance. When he recovered, he stood back at attention, eyeing the lieutenant with utter curiosity as he got a horrible, discomforting chill from the whole situation.

'_This is one fucked up-kind of place….' _His senses told him, making his body shudder involuntarily.

'_None of this shit seems right.'_

And he would be right. Tired, frightened eyes blinked over to Carter Blake as he seemed to had braced himself on the sink in shock. A speedy recovery later- he stood to full attention and leaned against it with his lower back pressing into the porcelain. From what he could see, he wasn't wearing ARI. What in God's name made him suddenly show up? Something had drawn him towards this building, and then towards Blake himself. Giving the man a speedy once-over, he took notice that his hands gyrated wildly against the sink, before he positioned them behind his back in order to hide them.

'_Goddawm it.' _His accent thick even in his thoughts. _'Withdrawals. Already. He's a fast one with this. I never 'wood have guessed it. But it all makes sense, he's adapting to AR-E at an unheard of rate, of course he'd be suffe'rin effects from it already. That's why he's seeing me…That's why I'm see'in him.'_

"Blake! What are you-?"

There wasn't much of a reaction time, maybe five or so seconds, but he felt himself stumble backward as he tried to contemplate what the hell just happened. He felt dazed, pain and throbbing emanating from his nose as he felt wetness pool there. It was a sensation he knew well- his nose was bleeding. Reaching up, Jayden tested his nose the best he could, realizing that Blake had punched him. Wiping the smear of trickling blood away, he sniffled painfully as his face wrinkled from agony. God, it felt like a truck had just hit him and decided to keep on driving. Even now, his head swam, the lights from the ceiling spinning in circles.

"-You little fuck." The madman spat, shaking his right hand as he closed it into a fist once more.

"What're you talking about-?"

"-Who the hell you got follow'in me?"

There was a few seconds delay; Norman's face twisting into a hateful, irritated scowl as he squinted angrily at the sudden appearance of the psychopath before him. He thought that he had gotten himself on Carter's good side, and here came one momentous swing in the opposite direction. He braced himself on the stall door, right hand clutching onto the door as the left was wrenched on the opposite wall to steady himself.

Looking to the left, frowning deeply, he peered back up as he struggled to keep his balance amongst his growing tempter. Carter still stood there with his fist raised. He was sure the shorter man found it hilarious that his victim was still shell-shocked. That constant need to prove himself becoming more and more apparent. Was it a deep insecurity? Norman filed that thought away.

"What the fuck, Blake! I got no idea-"

"Two Federal pricks from Washington were waiting for me in the parking lot; you don't know _anything_ about that?"

He raised his voice, careful not to scream. Soon, he knew his luck would run out. Eventually somebody would walk through that door, and they'd see him arguing with an empty space. He'd be in the loony bin before he could blink.

"-No, I _don't_." Norman stressed, now trying his best to stand up properly.

"Maybe if you calm yourself _down_, Cartah, I could try and tell you why they're followin' you to beg'n with?"

Stepping off to the side, Carter gave the 'illusion' a sideways glance. His head and gaze lowered, he tried his best to stand up straight and began to feel somewhat normal again. Yet his back ached, his hands sore, his pride even more deflated. At least, he noticed, the shaking had stopped. Just in time, too. Any more, and he honestly suspected he was going to faint. This at least made him take a deep breath to relocate his thoughts- he could get through this day easily enough.

Norman sniffled again, then looked around as he noticed the paper-towel dispenser. He walked on over and took a sheet, bracing it against his nose as he winced. Watching the brown towel turn crimson about half way, he groaned at the sensitive tissue of his nose pulsing with each heartbeat, stinging him mildly with each touch.

"Goddawm, what was that 'fowr?" He muttered under his breath, directed towards the lieutenant but not really feeling the venom at the moment- not truly ready to confront him about it. Turning a bit, his eyes darted to a once-again hunched over Carter, and he bit his lip as he went to speak- then stopped.

'_Jesus, he looks really bad. I need to tell 'em. If he does it while he's drivin', or on a case… Gawd, he could die. If he dies…I die. Permanently. He's gonna need triptoca-'_

"Do you know a Crawford?" Blake tried, not looking up but speaking as he continued looking towards the floor, left hand braced on the sink behind him.

There was a pause as Norman's mouth opened, no sound coming out as he seemed a bit surprised at the question. It seemed obvious he was rolling that one over in his head.

"I…Richard Crawford?" He stumbled, searching his internal memory banks.

"Yeah, looks like he just got out from the army or some shit-seemed pretty sure I was bullshiting him about those 'great' glasses of yours."

Jayden seemed confused, his brows furrowing and lips opening and closing like a fish begging for air.

"Crawford? They'd send him? Seems a little overkill to me…Are you certain-"

"Yes, I'm _certain_, Jayden! I'm in deep shit here because of you-"

"Be'cawse of _me?" _He shouted, standing up to full attention as his eyes lit up, short temper coming to a head. The absence of triptocaine was making it worse, turning him into an unstable junkie once more.

Jabbing his finger harshly at the man, it hovered inches from his snarling face, and Jayden couldn't help but be reminded it was like jabbing a stick into a junkyard dog's face. A dog at the end of a very short, brittle chain.

"You're full of _shit_, Carta! Nobody told 'ya to put ARI on- nobody told ya to keep comi'n back! You brought this one yahself-"

"-don't put that shit on me- If I didn't where'd the hell _you _be, _Norman_?" He quickly spat, moving closer when the other combatant put down his hand.

"Last time I checked, you asked for _my _help! Not 'tha other way around!"

"What's that got'ta do with enethin!" Jayden cried, throwing his left arm up as he eyed up the other man square in the baby-blues. They burned with more with red- reminded once again of how sickly he looked. Instantly, his anger wavered, his caring nature coming out for even this hostile man.

"It has everything to do with it! If you didn't reach out for me like you'd did, I probably would have just…Put them down-"

"Blake, crock-of-_shit_!" He spaced out each word as he put his hands on his hips, moving his lips to accentuate the pronunciation of each one.

"You're loven' this and you know it! You're taking to it fastah then a fish 'tah water and not even 'tryin to hide it. If it wasn't for me reigning you in they'd would 'hav killed yah-"

'_Shit, shouldn't have said that. Stupid! So fucking stupid.'_

Now it was Blake's turn to be confused- he shifted to his right and eyed up the agent with a renewed sort of puzzlement, one rife with a hollow breed of dark fear beginning it's clutch. His eyes didn't widen; instead they squinted just a little in an analyzing gaze as they studied the bleeding man as he stood in the bathroom stall.

"_Killed me?" _He spoke with a venom, head bobbing a little as he spoke, palms displayed as he gave a universally accepted confused gesture.

"Did you just say those damn glasses can _kill _me?"

Norman took a moment to close his eyes, leaning his head back to stem the flow of blood. Luckily it died down pretty fast; he sniffled and wiped it away with his right sleeve. His suit really was getting gross. He sincerely hoped he wasn't stuck with the thing for eternity. Maybe he could somehow get it washed? Hell he created a bed out of nothing, maybe a fully-staffed, certified Laundromat was next?

His face pulsed, the heat from the broken capillaries in his nose giving off a warm, slightly painful glow. The agent could even feel his heartbeat as it throbbed about his face, still recovering from the impact. He knew this would be coming, actually- he was surprised it took as long as it did. Perhaps he should give Carter credit for holding himself back for as long as he did?

"Shit, Cartah…" He sighed, "Did'ya have to hit me like that? I think 'ya broke it-"

Norman's heart jumped in his chest as he heard the bathroom door open- _God, it was bound to happen sometime- _and his head turned in the direction of the noise. For a brief second he caught Carter's gaze fly over that way, and then as he went to protest he felt himself ruthlessly shoved back into the stall, stumbling backwards and just barely missed being thrown onto the toilet.

"_Get in, get in." _Blake whispered as loudly as he could manage. _"Don't talk…"_

Shutting the stall door behind him, he locked it quickly as his own heart beat wildly in his chest. He didn't know yet if others could see Jayden, if he was a delusion of his own making or a manifestation that others could see and hear. Jayden could manipulate the environment, yet he wasn't positive if somehow he was all imagining this- or he was an apparition of technical makings. Either way, he didn't want to find out like this.

The young, chestnut-haired man felt rather like the lover being hidden from the parents; that any minute ma and pop Blake would find him and chastise their child for their relationship. The thought almost made him laugh, if he wasn't already so stressed and strained by the punch and arguments. Fear clutched at him as well, threatening his pseudo-existence as if he was alive and whole again. He felt awkward as the back of his legs hit the toilet seat as Blake continued to push him, then watched as he looked back, looking for feet towards the bottom of the stalls.

Jayden's breath hitched as the lietenenant leaned forward, oddly close and filling the stall with an awkward air. It would be almost arousing if the room didn't have that typical clean-yet-still-kinda-gross bathroom stench. And if it wasn't Blake. Or if he was in any kind of mood. Yet he couldn't help but shudder all over as the man applied pressure all about his chest, crotches almost aligned yet not quite thanks to their distance in height. Jayden tried to understand why the man was getting so close to him- especially since _if_ he was to gain an erection right now…it would be felt by both parties rather fast.

His breath hit his ear, the warm and obvious air giving him the chills. Carter's arms went for the back of his thighs- and his eyes widened and body reacted negatively, throwing the other man a heated look as his face drained of color. His whole body jolted out of nervousness, out of his body betraying him in such a conflicting, compromising position. _'Whoa- what the fuck- not now, Blake- well not ever- but especially not now-'_

"_Get up on the toilet!" _He cried as quietly as he could before the man could get closer. Already, the footsteps were echoing in the room far too loudly for his liking. Norman seemed surprised by this, reacting with a slight start as if an obvious realization hit him through the fog his brain had spun. He moved fast, however, Carter helping to speed the process as he grabbed him by the back of his legs and hoisted him up, trying not to make a grunt of exertion- and trying not to feel too awkward as he felt the taller, more slender man in his arms, his body lean over his right shoulder as his surprisingly warm, suit-clothed body touched his neck and cheek.

Norman grabbed around his neck, feeling a slight flutter at the tension in the room. The man far too closer and intimate for his liking. Yet it felt nice to have someone hold him like this- to feel completely and oddly safe in this stronger, more dominant male's arms. For just the briefest of a few seconds, he envisioned his pants being unbuckled and legs stripped bare- his ankles around the man's waist- then he got an odd heat in his groin as he felt a slight hardness begin.

Exhaling deeply, Jayden tried to make it sound like more of a stressful release instead of a noise of sexual frustration. Frustration was the right word, too, because he was pissed at himself as well as this situation. He was better then this, better then Carter himself in just about every capacity…He didn't want anything to do sexually not to mention platonically with this man, yet he kept finding himself in these situations where he wanted to be touched, handled, caressed by the cop's rough, calloused, and above all experienced body. Be forced into compromising positions where he was held down and humiliated, legs forced wide and mouth agape with moans.

He theorized maybe it was because of the man's apparent high testosterone production- he smelled good, felt good…And despite his distaste at his age, looks, and behavior, he found himself becoming fascinated with his eyes and lips, even that rough and thick goatee that stained his face like a dark accentuation. It was somehow intimidating. A warning to others before they even opened their mouths; that his very soul was tainted.

Norman contemplated that perhaps his age was a plus as that meant he had experience, his attitude still distasteful yet slowly finding himself becoming tolerant. He actually would love the opportunity to pleasure the older man, knocking him off his high-horse as he plowed him into the bed and moaned wantonly. The profiler was never a sexual man, treating the activity more like a need then a want. It became more frustrating then anything when he got an erection and had to put an end to the activity then relish it. Not like this cop, the knuckle-dragger probably fucked every streetwalker and whore in a thousand-degree radius and would be proud to admit it.

Unlike Blake, Jayden's profession had no room, no time for such lusty thoughts. He was too professional in both attitude and structure. Beat into his head at an early edge that work always came first, usually never even making the first come-on when at the up-class Washington bars. There was little time for play, telling himself that he at least was able to release all that pent-up frustration on some helpless boy or the occasional girl. Blake? Lucky fuck- probably blended work with play all the time. He wondered how many girls he did in his car…Oh God, the image- he got the flash of him slamming into some pretty young girl in his back seat, pants of either of them barely pulled down from the animalistic fervor that came over them.

This thought began to take front stage for some demented reason. Despite the intruder walking about in the room, heading to the urinals it seemed, he was thinking about fucking. Since when did that happen? It didn't make any real sense- aroused by someone they loathe quite entirely? Shouldn't he want to be _far _away from Blake instead of as close as possible? He struggled with this thought, and it made his arousal fade, and he shook his head a little as his face warped into a scowl. This sudden onslaught of sexual thoughts was unbecoming of him and his career- then he reminded himself that he was fucking dead. Dropped off the radar, no longer had a social security number and had a spot in the obituaries. Maybe he should stop giving a fuck and go balls-to-the-wall…?

No, no. God, what was wrong with him? He was better then this, better then him.

A flush- a few seconds of hand-washing and the footsteps proceeded out the door. Both men took a deep breath, and Jayden looked down to realize this whole time, he was standing with his crotch practically in-line with Blake's face. Well, okay…He would have to stoop to get anything done, but that was still amusing. It made him smile internally, he noted Blake was still looking away and listening for any new intruders. Jayden instead smirked, and entertained the idea that he would love nothing more to shove his dick into the haughty lieutenant's mouth. He watched the man's blue eyes as they darted about in surprise, waiting for someone to come back in any real second.

Lifting up his right hand from the man's shoulders, he acted before he had a chance to stop himself. His thumb gently ran along the bottom of his large, dry, yet kissable lips. Carter narrowed his eyes and looked towards the other man with a look more of confusion then anything else. Gently pushing the thumb past said lips, felt the teeth that lay beyond those lips and stopped. It felt good to finally feel the mouth that he used so well in vulgar spats, showing the world his creative palette of curses, wanted to go past those white teeth and into the warm and wet mouth- had wished he could part that jaw and sink himself into that vulgarity-spitting, arrogant maw and shut him up for at least a few minutes.

Yet Carter granted him none of this, for obvious reasons. Instead he received a look of repulse; and a hand quickly flew up to rip the young man's hand from his mouth.

"-_The __**fuck **_are you doing?" He literally hissed, his stare cautionary. Warning in a mere glance that the kid was getting too close. Invading his personal space.

A pause, and the brief spell Norman had been under was broken as his face drained of color from fear. His jaw worked hard as words failed to fall out, once again resembling a fish with hook-in-mouth.

"Nothing…"

Blake's face scrunched up, a ghastly and scary display, taking a few steps back as he watched Jayden fail to keep his balance. The young man reached a hand back and held the top of the toilet, taking a shaky step down as he hopped onto the floor.

"Nothing? Didn't look like anything to _me, Norman_!"

Shrugging his shoulders as the agent looked down, he struggled to comprehend the man's sudden behavior. Norman didn't seem to have any actual attraction towards him- and the feeling was mutual. What had just happened, however, was out of the clear blue sky and sexually confusing. When he had done that just minutes ago…Carter got excited. Just a twitch, just a little hardness- then it fell almost immediately when he remembered whose face he had been looking into. That little piss-ant from Washington.

"Oh, well, sorry big fella." The tone in his voice was ironic, condescending.

"Being down there like that, you just reminded me of first guy who sucked my dick- you got nice lips for it, too."

A look of absolute hatred flushed across the lieutenant's face, and it was obvious to the agent that he was doing everything in his power to keep from nailing him in the face one more time. Norman took a cautionary step back in preparation of the blow, waves of animosity rolling forth as if the agent himself was the shore. Blake raised a fist and took a few steps forward, his legs carrying his heavily jacketing form towards him in a frightful display of virility.

"_I swear 'ta __**fuck**__-"_

The door sailed open again, faster then before. Blake growled low in his chest as Jayden literally felt himself attacked, pushed harshly into the same stall and this time, pushed against the stall wall to the right. Norman's heart sounded as though it hammered in his ears; from both the rush of potentially being caught, to the contact with the other man. He knew that he couldn't be in the stall with the other man like this. If it was possible for other people to see him, they'd see two sets of legs. Needless to say, that would make things a living hell for Carter, and even if he said he didn't care what happened to the corrupt cop, he didn't need the man getting into hot water on his account. Their professional relationship they held was unstable enough.

"_Carteh-"_

"_Shut the fuck up!"_

They both listened to two more men come in and do their business, two using the urinals and talking to one another about some inter-office gossip. Another came in to use the toilet, which was luckily relatively quiet and fast, because their faces were red enough without needing to hear some grown man take a shit.

Blake looked back into the young man's face. After seeing his own red eyes and pale complexion, he had to admit in a rather frightening coincidence, that he could see the same basic look in the kid's. His grayish blue eyes bloodshot, face shifting from a pulsing, embarrassed red to a color-drained, ghost-like state. Then the agent noticed this sudden fascination, and met eyes with him. The result was rather discomforting, as now the cop could feel his cool breath on his face. Cool air. It wasn't right. Then he reminded himself that Norman was dead, after all.

"_You look fuckin' dead, Norm." _He hissed, and on cue he could feel the man shudder and begin to twitch against his palms.

"_Right back atch'cha." _Norman spat, trying to stay just under the auditory radar.

Sighing, Carter looked back up as he heard the man finally finish and flush- then not wash his hands. Gross. That was a hot-button of his. If something wasn't clean, it drove him absolutely nuts. Washing your goddamn hands took a minute- he hoped the guy didn't go around touching everything.

Norman let out a breath as Carter released him in a huff, blasting out the stall door with an angry ram kept caged too long.

"I'm not doing this shit." He flung, finger pointing to the floor as he accentuated the point. "You hear me? I didn't ask you to show up here!"

Jayden did his very best not to flip his shit- took a deep shuddering breath- only to inhale some pretty disgusting, pungent bathroom odor.

"Ah please, Cartah! Don't bust my balls- you think I wanted to appear to you in the bathroom like some godda'awm Virgin Mary or someth'n? I was on Mars twent-ee minutes ago! I didn' choose 'tah be here!"

"Oh really? You had absolutely _nothing _to do with showing up in the bathroom toilet to scare the hell outta me and fuck up the rest of my day? Nothing at all? You know what? _Fuck you_, Jayden. Fuck you're F-B-_I_, buddies, too." Saying the acronym slowly as mouthed every letter with contempt.

Jayden man a face like he'd just had water spritzed in his nose- like how a cat reacts when hit with the blast of a water sprayer. Flinching and scrunching his nostrils.

"Gohd dawn it, Cartah! Do you 'hav any idea what's goin' on? When you took ARI you lied to them, didn't you?"

There was a hesitation; Carter seemed to be rolling that one about in his head for a good few seconds before he spoke.

"No."

"Don't bullshit me, Blake!" His voice rose, and for once he felt on top of an argument with the older man.

"They wouldn' be here if you didn't!"

Carter huffed, putting his hands on his hips as he craned his head back. A long, slow grumble that Norman supposed was a sigh passed through his nose as he tried to desperately calm himself down. His eyes were trained on the agent as he watched him play his hot-shot from Washington act.

"I told them you had your glasses on ya' when you died. That's all they wanted _to know,_ so that's all they got."

Giving a hard, tired stare, the man in charcoal-grey furrowed his brow and looked away for a few seconds. If somebody came through the door right now, they may very well have caught the two off-guard. They were too focused on one another's actions and words to keep an eye out for intruders on their little pissing match.

"Makes sense. They didn't want to tell you ene'thin if they did'n 'haf to." Then the agent looked down, carefully tenting the fingers in front of his face as he thought that one over. No doubt, ARI may have had some sort of tracking device. This was never released to him- as a matter of fact, several things about ARI were kept hush-hush, 'for his own good, and the good of the country' he had been told. He never thought about it until now, but they may very well know Carter had the ARI system right now. Maybe even- God help them- what _exactly_ they were doing with each other.

"There something you wanna tell me, _Jayden?" _The lieutenant hissed his last name like a swear.

"…You seem awfully con_cerned _about some_thing_!"

The younger man scratched his chin thoughtfully, then rested it there as he pondered. Before the atmosphere of the bathroom almost seemed eerily comforting, almost homely. It was somewhere he had actually remembered from before; not like the almost alien nature of Blake's one-story, quant home. The lights above buzzed only slightly; enough to give the room an almost frightening air.

"I'm concerned for us both, Blake." He sighed out, putting his hands on his hips and blankly staring at the floor. He could sense himself becoming more and more like his old, living self. It meant those withdrawals were coming back. It was something he didn't think he'd be able to control, now. Before he used various methods besides actual Triptocaine; cold showers, alcohol, breaking objects, hurting himself…other, more dangerous painkillers. Anything to draw attention from the receptors in his brain telling him he needed a certain substance. Now- there was none of that in the ARI- dream world. He briefly wondered if he could conjure these up like the bed from last night. In the end, however, he simply didn't know yet. Wouldn't be able to find out until he went back.

Shakes, sweats, dizziness, nausea, the almost-constant sensation of weakness coupled with chills and the urge to faint. Pain, uncontrollable tremors that racked through his body and made his chest tighten like an early heart attack. Made his head pulse with unbelievable migraines the likes of which nobody should have to suffer. The unshakable urge to lie down and rest. Even when he did it never wanted to go away.

The symptoms would loom over him like God himself, hovering there as it punished his weakening form. In waves they'd crash over him, fits of torment clawing and racking his body like water thrashing onto the shore of a rocky beach. Swept away in its undertow, unable to escape. Every time he fought back and won; didn't give into Triptocaine's soothing and exilerating effects to calm him from the withdrawals of ARI's brain-altering, addicting hold, to relieve the pain in record time and numb him head to toe, he felt himself grow weaker. Not stronger, not better, yet somehow always prouder. He told himself one day it would feel good to break away. Yet they also said the ARI could very well kill him without the blue powder. The flouresant, strangely beautiful, crystalline powder that could eventually snuff him out all the same on it's own.

At first Triptocaine was indeed harmless. Yet very ineffective. Many agents, including himself, became immune to its effects quickly. They were overcome with ARI's side-effects and stopped usage. To the Bereue, this was no good. It rendered the glasses useless. Even after tuning down ARI's abilities, it was still too dangerous. They strengthened the formula with a few risks involved; use sparingly. Even then, they were asked to sign a release, a security waiver, a new life insurance policy…They were told they were test subjects at this point.

Jayden was given a test to see how addictive his habits were. He skirted by, flying just under the radar, and informed the doctors he didn't smoke, didn't gamble, and drank socially. There were a few tests involving colors and shapes, which he apparently pulled off. Mind tests, which analyzed rather then an assessed. He had no idea if these would mean anything; but either way he was granted clearance. He would continue the ARI program and report his findings. The young man wanted the privilege to have ARI back more then anything, had become dearly in love with the technology and what it could do, the hope it had for the human race beyond his own applications.

He didn't know if he was the only man in the program to have problems, really. The young agent didn't dare open his mouth. What he witnessed from the few other agents that were involved with the secretive program was calm. For them, the rare drug was rather like a Tylenol. Deadly in high doses, but rarely used enough to be a concern. They sometimes went days without a single tube.

Instead, he found himself lining up the vials on his desk. Counting the usage and reporting a far lower number to the testing division. His request for more vials was explained as "back up supply", and indeed the other agents always seemed to have cases of the shit lying around. It took everything in his power to not try and swipe the heavily regulated government property.

Too much Triptocaine would kill. It had been revealed to him that it possessed a steadily accumulating effect, parts of it never leaving the body. It made him ill to think that with every unregulated sniff, he was steadily turning him into a dried-up, dead husk. One could easily overdose by taking too much at once or continuing to take it until the day their heart walls wore thin and they fell into cardiac arrest, or a blood clot caught in their brain causing a stroke. It didn't frighten Jayden most of the time, only when sniffing far too much in a day…Feeling the light-headed, dizzying ecstasy as his heart flew into overdrive and eradicated his pain to the point of total and utter numbness. All that wonder came with a price. He _knew_ he had to get out of this; had to put the drugs down for good…

Except that left him with ARI's side effects. He hadn't a plan for that when he began cutting down on his Tripto use. Or at least tried. Then it hit him full force, wave after wave of detoxification as his body sought to flush him of the device's dangerous effects. The nausea was at times overwhelming, the sensitivity to sunlight making life in hot, humid and swampy D.C. a living hell. In the summer months he almost shut down. How he managed to keep himself functioning, alert, and in decent shape he honestly found a miracle.

Now as he felt these same symptoms began to rear their ugly head, he felt a pang of distress, of hopelessness. Nearly gone was that surge of optimism that perhaps this death of his was going to be a new beginning. Instead he was turning into a facsimile of his former self- addictions and all.

Then he looked into Carter's bloodshot, pale eyes. Now a cold, empty, and hollow feeling of despair filled his soul to the brim. Guilt, a total sadness. Despite the fact that Carter of all people truly would deserve something like this, the gripping effects of dependence and the pain it brought, he knew the man had some good in him. Something that made him want to be a cop in the first place, or at least at one time. Perhaps the man was soiled by society, turned into a monster by his surroundings beyond his control, his toils unheeded by the masses and instead struck down and turned into the creature of hate he was today.

Norman didn't have the maliciousness in him to wish ill on Carter. Even if he was a sick, psychopathic son of a bitch. Nobody deserved the hell he went through every day- and unwillingly, he was causing it to another person. A person he was getting close to despite every attempt to come away. He watched as the man's eyes grew further tired, bloodshot, as he watched Norman for a reaction. Could note the draining of his color, the slight shake to his hands. Another pang of remorse- of pity.

'_Gahd, what do I tell him? What's gonna happen if the eye bleedin' starts? What do I say? How would he take it…? What's he gonna do when I tell him he needs to take drugs for the rest of his life? Can he even handle Tripto? He's older; he could have a heart attack…'_

"Are you feelin' okay?"

The question shocked the cold-blooded lieutenant. Actually made him flinch slightly. He seemed to analyze that one, despite being the sort of rhetorical question one is simply supposed to utter a simple "yeah, I'm fine" in response.

"What's that got-?"

"You're having withdrawals, Carter." Norman stated in such a soft voice, it was almost silent.

For a moment the other man turned his head to the left and up; seeming to analyze the agent's words as he sought not to believe what he just heard. His lips parted, the stickiness of his dry mouth making it audible. The lieutenant found himself craving water, downing it by the gallon if he could.

"What?" He said quickly, eyebrows rising as he tried to figure out this kid's psychobabble. "I'm _not_ no fuckin' druggie, Jayden!"

In surprise, Carter watched as Norman didn't seem to react at all to that statement. He just nodded, which in all honesty confused and scared the cop more then it angered him.

"I know." He stated, again in a low voice. Too afraid to utter them in case he might actually hear it; he didn't have the heart to tell the man he might be doomed for life.

Carter poked the right side of his cheek with his tongue. Outwardly, he was calmer then what was going on inside his head and body. His blood pressure elevated, heart pounding away as it handled the load of stress he was receiving. A weak man may have fainted straight away, yet his powerful heart simply wouldn't allow it. His whole body seemed to almost jump with each throb of his pulse. Norman did notice this, but didn't say anything as he watched a slight jerk dance across his frame every few seconds.

"The AR-eee has side effects. It stimulates the brain just like a drug-"

"Wait a fuck'n minute-" Blake interrupted. Closing his eyes, he grinned sardonically as he shook his head.

"…You're telling me that those damn glasses are doing this to me? Oh that's right! You just said they can _kill _me not long ago. How 'bout you fill me in?"

Jayden did a little shrug, looking off to his left side as he scratched his neck. He remembered when the older man had steaming hot coffee thrown in his face. It took him a small bit to recover from the shock of seeing his partner compromised in such a way. He hovered about him for a few seconds, only to be sent away. Truth was, back then he'd lay down his life for his partner just like any other, despite the bad blood. Even now, if asked, he'd gladly rip a kidney out and hand it to him with a smile if he so needed it. The sad thing was he hadn't the faintest fucking idea _why. _

"It's so much more then that, Blake." He released with a sigh parting his lips.

"It changes your brain; it's chemistry- the more you use it, the harder it is to go back. Your body starts to crave it, it wants it- _needs_ it. There's a drug that can offset the effect-"

Watching as Blake began to look off towards the door, he felt his own lighter heart jump into his throat. Tears almost came into his eyes as he broke the news, tearing him apart inside. Jayden himself had literally signed up for this. Was explained all this by the superiors and a team of doctors and given several documents to sign, waiving the right to sue the United States Government, or the ability to open his mouth about it.

Blake didn't. He had no idea what was going on. He thought he was simply trying on a pair of strange glasses. And indeed, if all he did was put them on and used them a few times, he'd recover fast and that would be the end of it. He didn't know if the older man had an addictive personality akin to his own, but ARI was easy to get hooked on as it was. Only a few of his fellow agents had a hard time putting the system down, the interface easier then a computer and simply faster as it had a direct line to the brain. Still, they handled it better. Balancing it with their normal lives. The only female in the program even balanced children with her daily workload, not at all tempted to use it outside of work despite its temptation. She claimed she simply never had the time.

None were as bad as Jayden himself. It still shamed him. Now he watched as Blake struggled with addiction signs mirroring his own. The other agents got the shakes every great now and then- they upped their Tripto for a few days and everything was fine. It wasn't anything like his own attacks, or like Carter's, presently. Guilt gripped at him, hard and icy as it watched the older man run his hands through his hair and gaze at the floor.

'_I shoulda' warned him. Fuck. __**Fuck! **__This is all my fault!'_

"I'm…I'm so sorrah, Cartah. Shit- I should've told you. I should've said somethin'…"

Blake stood up straight and looked towards the man in a dirty Armani suit. His own shoulders were slacked, eyes no longer bloodshot, but tired, showing the full force of their many years on this Earth.

"I'm not afraid of a pair of yuppie glasses, _Jayden. _Don't get all sappy on me- just do your job and I'll do mine."

He watched as Blake seemed to sigh and head towards the door, and felt the urge to follow. Stopping himself after a few steps, he realized his folly and halted dead in his tracks. Hearing this, the older man hesitated and craned his neck back, about to ask what his problem was, when the realization hit him.

"Oh right, the whole being dead thing…" He muttered under his breath.

Scratching the back of his neck, he eyed Jayden up. He'd like nothing better then to put the little cocksucker under his desk so he could get some head while taking calls. That thought was rather exciting, he had to admit. Though he'd never be able to hold himself back from moaning like an expensive whore from the other man's minstrations.

"Stay here."

Jayden went to talk, watching as the man went to leave the bathroom entirely.

"I'm not _staying_ in a goddamn bathroom-"

"Jayden, unless you can shrink down to the size of a fucking kitten- I'm not gonna be able to sneak you outta here. If _you've _got a better idea, _I'm _willing to listen!" He finished that with a cruel smirk, echoing the agent's words when he first arrived at the precinct.

"Son of a bitch- c'han you at least…Bring me somethin' to eat? Drink?"

Carter jerked as he scoffed at the younger man. He was just about to chastise him, when he realized that his little pet hadn't eaten since yesterday. God, he felt like he was taking care if a dog or child more then a grown man. A grown _dead_ man. His expression and stature softened, sighing heavily as he once again awkwardly scratched his neck as the air in the room seemed to be sucked away.

"I'll check to see if there's any donuts left. Black coffee, right?"

Norman jerked a nod, he could sense that he wanted to say something else, yet felt like he was looking a gift horse in the mouth by saying it.

"What?"

"I, uh…This place's coffee is horrible-"

"Oh, for fuck's sake! I'm not your goddamn dad, take it or leave it!"

"Fine! Just…Put some sugah in it, okay?"

"Alright…I'm not going to be back right away. I need to figure out how exactly I'm going to carry coffee and donuts into this bathroom without looking like a fucking nutcase-"

"Is that office still empty?" Norman tried, squinting as usual as he looked away, light blue irises in the left corners of his eyes.

"Of course, but me going in there isn't going to look any better." Where exactly was the kid going with this?

"Right, right…What about'cha your car?"

'_Well, looks like I got a little hobo on my hands. First he sucks my dick for payment, then he wants to live in my car…'_

"_Fine, _I'll go down at lunch, Ash is going to bitch. Thanks to you, I have to explain why I'm spending so much time in the can. That should be fun."

There was a slight pause, and Norman seemed to give a small scoff, "I thought you told _him _what to do?" Norman questioned, an almost -grin forming on his lips.

The older man smirked, his eyes smiling more then his mouth.

"Thanks for reminding me. How am I going to tote your ass down there without people seeing you, anyway?"

Norman nodded towards the man, his own hands falling to his sides as he blinked rapidly.

"AR-eee, just put 'em on when you get to your c'har. It'll take me there."

"You're right. 'Never thought I'd say that." He huffed, then turned around again as he rushed for the door. He'd wasted too much time as it was.

"Thanks, Blake- I'll make it up to you-"

"Fucking right you will." He said in an upturned tone of voice. Looking back towards the agent, he eyed him up and down. Judging the lanky, slender, tall man like a piece of meat hanging in a slaughterhouse.

"…Today, at lunch." Smirking lightly, he exited the door as he headed back to his desk.

"Shit." Jayden licked his lips when he instantly recognized the man's perverse hint. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he began to pace the long room a little. Deep down, he knew Blake would want another round. Yet he loathed it, not so much for the process itself as what it meant. Doing it to this man killed his pride, and embarrassed him profusely. Doing it to a complete stranger would have been far less worse then to this police lieutenant, a man he was beginning to tolerate but still found a deep loathing for. The thought of the action made his stomach flip; his muscles flinch and body go into a rigid state.

Despite knowing that it would come back around sooner or later, he had hoped that secretly Blake would be too busy to remember their little arrangement. Apparently, he was very wrong. Turning around, he leaned on the porcelain sink as he let his head droop and look into the basin. For a few seconds he stood there, listening to the miracle of himself breath- of reality, of standing in solid, perpetual space and time.

'_I do owe him so much.' _The thought disgusted him with its actuality. _'I owe him everything. Without him I'd be in un-reality forevah.'_

He wondered, was that so bad, really? Was he better off never setting foot in the real world again? After all, he never much cared for it. As a child he was a dreamer, sought a world full of wonder instead of the dead, bleak walls of the Federal Bureau's' cold, cruel, and grey offices. Blank and dull, filled with chaos and noise. His parents ripped away his toy dinosaurs, his clay, pencils, papers, and even action figures at a young age- could no longer play the dreamer, the adventurer, or the hero. Replaced with non-fiction texts that told him the truth instead of the wondrous. The unlikely but not altogether impossible. The solid instead of the unsure. The bleak outlook of life opposed to the unlimited barriers of the human imagination.

Alice in Wonderland, The Hobbit, The Chronicles of Narnia, Frankenstein, The Lost World, among others populated his childhood. Everything from old myths across the sea; to new fantasies from the here and now. Sir Author Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes novels, especially, interested him later in life. It had a big part in pushing him into his current career.

Then came a period of science fiction, where he became enraptured with Verne's little fantasies, and H.G Well's grim outlook of the future. Yet above all what stuck out was the technology in the stories, the ability to use advanced science to accomplish what the fantastic stories of his youth presented but never explained. With these devices, this science; anything was possible.

It wasn't that he sat at his desk and wished to be in a land of unicorns and magical goddamn elves- it was that the world as it stood bored him profusely. He longed for a window in his office, a glance out to the world outside…and when he finally went outside- he could care less. He had to get going, always running off to another task or order from the main office. When he talked with people, he longed for understanding of their ways. To fully comprehend their actions and what made them tick. Yet when he did get them, he did his job and went about his way. Nothing was ever satisfying to him. He wished for a world that met his expectations and went beyond.

Yet ARI was even too limited, and especially when he had no choice but to exist solely inside it. Carter was a Godsend, if he still believed in God. He told himself he should be grateful, even if deep inside he fought the urge to spit in the older man's face. Even if he sought his almost constant approval while simultaneously hurling insults. Even sucking his dick apparently didn't make him happy, earned him no real affection and only tolerance.

Hearing the bathroom door shift, he perked up and found himself running towards the nearest stall. Clambering on top of the toilet, he locked the stall door and crouched down, trying his best to keep balance on top of the porcelain throne.

Just when Jayden didn't think things could possibly suck any more, a knock came at the door.

"Hello?" Came a strained man's voice, echoing in the room.

"Somebody in there?"

'_FUCK.'_

The door rattled on its loose hinges, and Jayden's eyes focused on them as though his very existence depended on them- and they did. If anybody found him- maybe he'd get lucky and they wouldn't recognize the agent they loathed from day one. If they did, though, the word would get around that he wasn't dead. Somehow it could all lead back to Blake, and if he didn't have access to ARI anymore…He might vanish from reality entirely.

Just like that, though, the man gave up. He chose the stall next door and proceeded to use it while Jayden stood there, perched like a bird on its rim as he waited for Carter to bring him to the car. It was awkward to say the extreme least. He just hoped his withdrawals didn't start again. God only knew he wouldn't be able to handle it right then and there.

Time flew by at an agonizing pace, and as it did so, Norman wondered just what time it was. Was it even close to lunch? God- he was so fucking hungry! He was beginning to feel the hunger pains already clawing at his stomach. He felt hollow inside, like somebody carved him out like a Halloween pumpkin and sat him on the front porch. Though the last thing he had was an eating disorder, the man prided himself in being able to skip meals to achieve more time in his day, if need be. The pains never bothered him before. Now, they seemed dire. Like he hadn't eaten in days, not just since yesterday. Biting his lip, he leaned against the bathroom stall as he took a deep breath- the agony of starvation raking him as his belly made various gurgling noises-

"Oh…" He said out loud in another realization. Another urge suddenly came upon him for the first time since his death. Well, he was in the right place for it. He just hoped Carter didn't pull him through mid-way.

Laying toilet paper down on the seat carefully, he shook a little from a slight tremor of fear ran through him. Pulling down his pants, Jayden sat on the toilet as he sighed in a sort of half relief, half frustration.

* * *

Ash had been leery of Blake ever since he finally came back to sit down. A small conversation came up about what was specifically wrong with the lieutenant, to which the shorter man simply waved it off as a 'bug he heard was going around'. Of course, the taller man knew there was no bug, could sense the lie in a man he knew for years. He knew when Carter was lying because he was the one that had taught Ash how to do it without being caught. The student became the master.

Yet he didn't bring it up, didn't question it further. Instead, Ash simply observed as the other man tried to work to the best of his ability. They talked business, of Scott's body, the murders at the Kramer estate, among others. Carter didn't seem as interested as he normally would be, his eyes almost glassy as they seemed to have more activity going on behind them then normal. There was no focus there, and instead there laid a nervousness he wasn't at all used to seeing from the tough cop of over thirty years experience.

Then he watched as Blake turned around, almost as if suddenly remembering something. He looked down at his own gold watch, checking the time.

"'There any donuts left?"

Ash was caught off guard by that, so he shrugged and looked towards the table where he saw a closed Krispy Kreme donut box, then lifted a brow.

"Maybe?"

"Fuck, I don't know why but this sickness is making me hungry as hell. I can't stop eating."

This only deepened the mystery to James, so he chewed a bit on his lip as he looked across to the shorter man, yet Carter didn't look back. He was still focused on those donuts like a lifeline.

"Well, go see if there's any left, then. Don't let me stop you." Ash flung his arm into the air and waved in the table's direction, a bit irritated with his 'stupid' question.

Without further hesitation, the lieutenant looked around, then stood up. He made his way to the table, opening the box up fastidiously. Pulling out what looked to be a glazed, crème-filled donut; he took an enormous bite and began to chew with widely-puffed cheeks. It was like watching a squirrel hoard nuts, afraid somebody was going to come along and take them all away. A cop did get too close to the ravaging man in blue, and received a nasty stare in warning. There was a stink-eye stare down as the cop walked away, shaking his head in bewilderment.

'_Well now, this is interesting.' _Ash noted, then began to open up the computer program his little report of Carter was stored. Typing away, he noted the exact time of day in his passage.

Then he watched as his partner grabbed a small pile of nearby napkins, piling three donuts on top. It was all that was left, and he was making sure he got them all. Sprinting over to the coffee machine, he looked about nervously as he made a cup, pouring in two sugars and stirring it quickly, all the way working one-handed.

'_Now wait- Carter hates coffee black. He dumps so much crap in that thing it might as well be a cup of creamer- what the hell is he making that for?'_

Taking all of these, he turned around and nodded towards Ash, his gaze steely and determined, perhaps also a little bit embarrassed.

"Be right back…I gotta go take care of something-"

"With a pile of donuts and coffee?" The slightly younger man questioned, his gaze curious and tone almost irritated.

Shrugging, Carter looked like a kid with his hand stuck in the cookie jar.

"I'm gonna eat while I work, is that a problem with you?"

"Let me come with you-"

"No."

That tone was new; rarely did Blake speak that way to him. He didn't like it.

"I'm _sorry?_"

"I said no. I need to make a private phone call." He said this as he walked towards the elevator, his voice trailing off. It was obvious to the detective that he wasn't the lieutenant's top priority. In fact, it sounded like he could care less. Belligerent, even.

Ash felt that horrible anger surge deep inside. It wasn't something very becoming of him, he tended to remain relatively calm under pressure. Rarely did he get mad; instead he often set about to getting even. He was like karma, that universal rule of positive and negative energies swirling about. He came back to bite you in the ass when you least expected it. Insults were laughed at, his smart ass tone and smile only enraging the attacker instead of satisfying them.

For a moment he saw red, taking a deep breath as he watched the man push the call button and not even look back when he went inside. As his pulse raced, he wasted no time as he draped his jacket across his arm and stood to full attention. It wouldn't be easy tailing his more aggressive partner, but he'd be able to pull it off. He was always the more cunning of the two of them, and outsmarting him shouldn't have been too hard.

Walking up to the red elevator doors, he nervously looked to his left and right as he contemplated his plan. Counting down the minutes, he hoped Carter would have been off doing whatever the hell he was before Ash himself reached him, because if he really _was_ simply making a private call at the elevator's base…Somehow…He'd be caught, chewed out, and his cover blown. In Carter's eyes, the grey-clothed detective would have no business being down there- especially when he made it _clear _he wanted to be left alone.

Except he knew full well that wasn't the case. That there was no call. Unbeknownst to Blake, Ash had noticed he left his cell phone on his desk.


	11. Famished

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, sex between two men, (In later chapters.) and oral sex/anal play between two men. (YOU READ RIGHT.) :D Oh and some bathroom humor...These ARE men, afterall.**

Author's Note: **This took a little longer then I originally anticipated. It took a little while to refine it to where I wanted. I'm happy with the result, however. :3 Hey, if you have a Blayden fic, please update! And if you were thinking of writing one...do it! There's not much going on with fics lately, and it makes me sad. :(**

* * *

**_"True friends stab you in the front."-_**_Oscar Wilde_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

Pulling out his keys, Blake did his best unlocking the door with his hands full. For a moment he had to balance the donuts on the car roof, then took them back as he sat inside, sighing at the sheer exertion he had just pulled in order to get this kid his goddamn food.

He had to fight the urge to not face-plant himself into the donuts he held, as an insatiable urge to eat filled him once more. Just what the fuck was going on? This really was _not _normal. Not even in the slightest. Was this one of the side effects of the glasses? He didn't think, for one Norman didn't mention it, and for another he didn't remember the agent eating like a horse when he was on the case. Didn't constantly complain about food one bit. In fact, the only thing he saw the kid eat the whole time was a pack of peanut butter crackers from the vending machine. Even then, he didn't seem enthusiastic about it.

Ignoring it for now, he instead reached into his breast pocket and picked out ARI. The minute he put them on, he looked around in curiosity as he realized Norman didn't appear as normal. A few minutes passed, Carter drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the awkward time moved along. This was new. Then he heard footsteps, and craned his neck as he heard his passenger door opened, and watched as the dead agent gave him a sheepish look and sat inside.

"Where were you?"

He knew the question was coming, and Norman shrugged a little and kept his head partially down.

"I was…using the bathroom."

Indeed, it had took him a while to get off the toilet. Just when he thought he was finished…Yep, no he wasn't. He kept praying to the God of bowel movements that he'd finish before Blake needed him. Good thing he ended up taking his sweet time. Jayden wasn't sure how it would work out, but he didn't need to be caught with his pants down. Finishing a good five to ten minutes before then, he found himself suddenly in the parking garage beneath the building. It was by sheer luck there was nobody there to see him. He had to search for Blake's car, a hard task considering his model car was the same used for all the higher-ups in the precinct.

Watching as Carter snorted, the older man looked him up and down.

"Taking a shit?"

Norman made a face, that had been crude even for him.

"That's none of your business." Norman muttered, then looked out the window. "…But yes."

The embarrassed agent had no idea why he had the urge to tell the other man that, he supposed it was because he had a feeling he knew, anyway. Why play the coy game now?

Hearing Blake chuckle shortly, his face heated up for the briefest of instances.

"About time, you looked so 'fuck'n constipated these past few days. I was about ready to buy you a bottle of Ex-Lax-"

"Godda'hn, Cartah! Just give me the food!"

"Whoa, whoa, there- where's your manners? I didn't hear you say 'Please. Some thanks I g'het for runn'n around for you-'"

Ignoring the formalities, Jayden reached over and grabbed the donuts that had been balancing on his lap so happily.

Removing the ARI system from his face, Blake folded them up and placed them back inside his breast pocket, an important question on his lips; "You did wash your hands, I hope?"

"Of course-"

The pastry on the top fell victim first. It was another crème filled one, and he bit into it with an animalistic vigor, looking to be filling himself up after being starved- the white frosting squirting out the other end and getting on his hands, where he licked it away with his surprisingly pink tongue. The older cop found himself looking at this with interest, fascinated by the pseudo-sexual imagery with more then just hunger for food. Licking his own lips briefly, he breathed out shakily.

Needless to say, Blake's mouth watered at the sight. A few more bites downed the donut- and watched as Jayden licked away the last bit from his sticky, white fingers greedily. Deja-vu struck him as he wasn't sure to be hungry or aroused by the sight of Jayden swallowing something white and creamy.

"Give me one of those…" He muttered huskily, then reached over, taking the one at the top of the pile.

Together they devoured the small, calorie-and-fat-stuffed meal. It left them remotely satiated, in the end they felt as though they could easily use something more filling. Blake swore he had the desire to rip the last donut from Jayden's hands, finish it, bite-marks and all. He just barely held back.

Without thinking, Norman reached for the coffee in the drink holder in the car's center console. Steam still rose from the top, and he touched the rim to his lips as he sensed its warmth. Taking a small sip, only then did he remember Carter had indeed gotten him the office coffee, it had the same sort of Styrofoam cup- then was pleasantly surprised by its taste. It wasn't amazing, but it wasn't horrible, either.

"What'd you-"

"What kind did you get last time?"

Jayden pondered; then whispered.

"…Dark roast."

"Well, there you go. That's French Vanilla. Why didn't you just try a different one?"

The kid shrugged, and he Norman had to admit he didn't really know. It threw him off so much; he never even considered the plethora of types the precinct offered.

"Christ, Blake. I don't know- Gawd, just-"

"You're _welcome_, by the way." He said with venom, wiping his mouth with a white napkin to alleviate the strawberry jelly of the last pastry. "Ash was on me about the whole thing, just be glad I got out of there without 'em 'tailing me."

Norman took a deep breath and sank into the car's warm leather seats. He had to admit ever since sitting in the car, he felt altogether wonderful. After using the bathroom he felt relieved, less stressed. Then he put food in his stomach, a warm and tasty liquid to quench his thirst- and company. Carter had long since begun to feel like a necessity. Around him, the withdrawal symptoms lessened and even began to cease. He never went into a full-fledged attack around him. It was something that he noticed on the Origami Killer case, his body always waiting for the aggressive man to leave before his nosebleeds and shakes would come rocketing back to smash his hold on reality.

His own theories included the high levels of testosterone the man practically radiated- like a walking Chernobyl that sent out hormones instead of radiation. Being in his presence made his body tense up and relax almost simultaneously. A part of him keeping on edge for fear of conflict, the other having the urge to become submissive and practically bow to his kingship.

"Thanks." Norman admitted with a soft smile, just the smallest tugging at his lip's corners.

Carter nodded; looking out the window as he desperately hoped the awkward silence would pass soon enough.

"…Sure." He muttered, nodding a little and sitting back in his seat, pulling up on the flaps of his jacket as he straightened himself, sighing heavily.

Looking towards the agent, he studied the fine contours of his face. What fascinated Carter the most was how tired Norman always looked. Dark circles and bags under his eyes even at this age. He seemed to have been put through the wringer and came out pale and sickly on the other side. He blamed ARI, perhaps. Even though the agent may have technically been dead, it didn't stop him from wondering why he seemed so strung out. That scar on his right cheek seemed deep and permanent, and the question loomed on his lips as he sought to ask where it came from. Instead, he sighed again and asked a different one.

"So, this hunger…This part of the side effects?"

The agent snapped out of his daze, yet didn't exactly act all that focused, regardless.

"No. Not at all. If en'ethin', it tends to suppress appetite…So I don't get this, eith'ah."

Watching as Blake sat back in his seat, the tense air in the car increased. The sounds of the leather seats flexing filled the small space they inhabited.

"So, you _don't _know why I feel like eating a fuck'n horse-"

"No. I'm sawry- I feel the same way, I'm not quite getting-"

"I can tell _you_ the glasses have something to do with it, Norm." He breathed out, grinding his teeth just a bit in irritation.

"This shit didn't start until you came back into the picture."

Sitting back in the seat, he stared ahead blankly as he tried to formulate an answer that could satisfy the lieutenant.

"You're right. I got no fuck'n idea _why_, though. Like I said, it makes no sense. The ARI can have a drug-induced effect, sometimes making you sick. The last thing it does is grow 'your appetite."

Grunting, the other man shifted in his seat as he tried not to grow irritated with his somewhat unwilling consort blowing him off. Still, he could tell from his expression and hopeless tone that he wasn't being 'bullshat' to. It seemed to bother Norman when he didn't know something, so instead of explaining a better course, he simply ignored it altogether.

"Fine." Carter breathed, and then smirked a little when he remembered the deal. The only reason why he was even still working with the scrawny little bastard.

"Well…" Shifting in his seat again, he sighed deep. "Let's get this show on the road, then."

Smiling subtly, he reached to the side and yanked on the lever that set the seat back. The withdrawals were settling back in again, the beginning stages creeping in. Norman at first had to admit he was a bit too out of it to grasp what was going on, then quickly came to it, wishing immediately he hadn't.

"Do we really have to do this? What if someone-"

Deep down, the profiler knew better then to protest. Knew it would be pointless. That didn't mean that he shouldn't try, that if he didn't at least attempt that his pride would be still somewhat intact.

"Yes, we do. I need some relief- you're bullshit's been keeping me busy all day. It's about time you start earning your keep."

Norman huffed as his face turned deep red, mouth going dry as he parted his lips. A deep swallow made of nerves and embarrassment- shifting in his seat as he looked out the window to see if anybody at all was around. To not only see him alive- but sucking his former partner's dick- would kill him a second time.

Carter put the seat all the way back, then shifted his current seating position until the tracks stopped. To the outside observer, there would appear to be nobody in the car. He couldn't risk being caught like this; he would rather not be called into Perry's office of suspicions of being on the receiving end of falatio by another man… a supposedly dead man… in the parking garage. He couldn't even begin to figure out a way to explain this if he had to.

"Get movin' there, college boy."

For the past few minutes, Norman had been staring at his own feet in the dark. He didn't want to do this at all- not one bit. Scrapping teeth along his lower lip, he took a long look over at Carter and drank in the older man's appearance. Lying there, he was reminded of the two young men he'd conquered. His tired, experienced body similar in more ways then the older man would ever want to admit. Tired, husky air passed his smooth and warm lips. Trailing his gaze down, he saw the man breathing in and out with increasing lust, the bulge struggling to burst through his pants in anticipation.

This spurred the agent on; that the man was hardening up thinking of him. It sent chills up his spine, and felt as Carter's arm reached around and up his back, pushing him towards him- though not forceful enough to move him yet. It was more attractive to the other man if he if he got going all on his own.

Reaching down, the reluctant beracraut found himself oddly motivated. A tightness of his own began to struggle against his pants, and he swallowed the stickiness that clung to the back of his throat. His fingers clumsily, nervously, touched the zipper's pull, fiddling through the cloth's crest to grasp it firmly between his fingers. With some strength, he pulled it down as it went up then down the small hill that was the man's erect dick. That hill jerked and grew as he did this- making a warmth build inside his own crotch, fill his upper torso with what it meant- The implications it held. Blake was getting off on him.

A twinge of power overcame the young agent, and he shifted in his seat. He watched as the lieutenant looked up, his breath hitching and panting as he steadily accepted the stimulation that was on its way. An excitement fluttered through Blake as he watched the kid's long, lean legs step up into the air; then over to his own left. Protest died on his lips as Jayden straddled him, surprising himself as a small, almost girlish squeak of surprise found it's way past his lips as the agent shifted, putting weight on his knees as he lifted his body up as to grab Blake's hips on either side, then pulled down a little.

'_Eager little beaver._' The older man thought, a confused and surprised glance finding its way to the younger man's face.

"Just sit 'ti-hight, Cartah." He heard Jayden assure, his voice oddly convincing.

"You won't hafta do a thing…"

Worry began to clutch at Carter as he sat up on his elbows, pulling the blue-clothed arms beneath him and allowing him to see the full extent of the dead man's activities. A slight blush overcame his face as his cock twitched- Norman pulling his hips up and towards himself. This wasn't part of the plan. He honestly didn't expect little Norman Jayden to have that sort of gull. It was embarrassing, and he immediately protested- especially considering what his actions could have meant if he let him continue.

"Whoa- hey! _Don't fuck around_-" He shook himself out of Jayden's grasp, feeling the actual muscle behind his grip as he yanked and pulled out of the younger man's near-bruising hold. His hips slipped a little from his hands, again feeling the car seat cradling his muscular ass. It was then when he felt the odd sensation of Norman himself putting weight back on his thighs, a shot of arousal shooting up to his crotch that nearly made him wince, but instead he simply stiffened, trying his best to pretend that sensation didn't happen.

Norman growled- a surprisingly interesting sound considering his character. It was quick and light, not deep like the other man's. Yet it got the point across, they locked eyes for a second as Norman quickly remembered to look out the windows, only seeing the figures of people walk a good thirty feet away from their location.

"You want me to do this or _not_, Blake?" He demanded, louder then even he was expecting.

"I didn't tell you to strip me-" He was cut off as Norman ruthlessly clenched his legs around the man beneath him, hands reaching down to his belt. His breath quickly caught in his throat, gasping harshly as he let the air out with a stifled groan. This shit wasn't okay with the alpha male one-bit; the feeling of being emasculated and dominated seething up from under layers of pride and intense ego.

The only other option was to buck like a bronco to get Norman off, raising his hand he laid it flat on the other man's chest, pushing, yet only yielding him to hit the front of the steering wheel. The area was restricted as it was, and the black ring of plastic was already digging into the younger man's spine. Putting his hand back down as he yielded no results, he sighed in mild irritation as he settled, wincing as his arms finally rolled forward and allowed himself to lay flat again.

Norman worked fast, feeling Carter twist worriedly underneath him in suspicion. It rather satisfied the Fed because subconsciously, it meant the man between his legs had a secret fear of being put in his place. Of one day not being the stronger one of the group. He wasn't used to being challenged, and ever since he came along it made the public defender (and he used that term loosely) uncomfortable. His status in jeopardy. It was possible, the Fed again reasoned, but did nothing to stop him from working at his belt.

The black leather was pulled through the clasp with some difficulty, the primordial sounds from his prey beneath coupled with sensual writhing and pulsing heat. It sent Norman's cock on fire, the wonderful furnace below him rubbing against his firming erection. The kid found himself biting back an approving purr; instead shifting in his seat atop the cop as to not rub crotches. Considering the man's size, it was hard to do. The clasps jingled as they struck one another, and he pulled it looser as he felt the man almost sigh in relief- while then stiffening as he felt the "V" of his now opened clothing widen as he undid the button then unzipped the fly.

"Lift 'ya hips…" Norman muttered, and he almost immediately felt the man grind down into the seat in order to do the exact opposite of what he wanted.

In irritation, Norman did his best to do this for him. Lifting his own ass off the man, he grabbed hold of those hips again; he pulled up against his pushing weight. Yet the man was stouter and stronger as a whole; and it was pointless. He flashed the man an angry stare; his pupils dilated in the dark of the car cabin as his now hungry attitude intensified.

Blake only returned this animosity, wiggling his hips as the kid now sought to simply pull his pants down despite all the pressure he was using to keep his butt on the seat. Reaching up, Blake finally had appropriate use of his arms and fisted the brown hair- now feeling the surprisingly soft locks once again in his possession. His intent had been to yank his head down until his mouth wrapped around his steadily hardening cock- he craved for him to start slathering up and down it like a long, hard candy- but instead felt the desire to feel that hair between his fingers. He'd never felt another man's hair like this…All the times he roughhoused with his brothers and younger friends back in the day- it was never this soft, so pleasant to move hands through.

Trying to pull his head back, Jayden instead followed his grasp and leaned to the right.

"Would' ya rather we cuddle?" He chastised, making the older man snarl.

"Fuck you-"

"That's what I've been try'n to do, Cartah! I told' a to relax!"

A defeated growl, a small sigh, and the hand fell from his head. Laying them instead by his sides, he lifted his hips from the seat, and could swear the kid smirked in victory. Norman felt his crotch pulse as he finally had the upper hand, now pulling his black pants down his hips, uncovering his briefs. The white clothing did absolutely nothing to hide his massive erection, his dick pressing against it so horribly bent and curving around his left thigh- it almost hurt him to look at it. He knew his own had to be nearly as bad, feeling the throb of his cock in his pants as it starved for satisfaction.

His slacks held him in, withheld his body from springing forth and rubbing against the older man's erection like he so desperately craved. This whole thing made him sick, really it did. He didn't want to be having an attraction towards Carter Blake, didn't want his body to respond so willingly. Yet he supposed it was a combination of a power struggle and repressed sexual kinks. Never mind the fact that he was taking Carter's erection and sexual excitement to be tokens of being desired by the opposite man- chosen as a mate ripe for fornication and coupling.

At a young age, Norman's first encounter with sex had been visiting a cousin's farm. They were breeding cows at the time- and after the heavily intact bulls fought off the others, one would stake a female and hungrily mount it. He remembered having his mom cover his eyes when the action took place, yet caught a shameful glance (he'd never admit even now that he found it rather sexually exciting and interesting) of the bull's simply enormous dick- clambering in absolute heat and _need_ to mount the much-desired reciprocating partner in breeding necessity.

And he could easily be reminded of that bull as he pulled the briefs down, his stomach bottoming out in nervousness as he once again caught sight of Carter's practically arm-thick cock. The massive head seemed almost happy to 'see' him, broadening out as it stood to full attention. It curved upward a little, the perfect position for sex- because according to the dick, that's what the next plan would ideally be. As before, Norman's eyes widened briefly at the sight, and he heard Carter chuckle a bit as he noticed, and shifted, the stiff member bobbing a little as he did so.

"I believe you two know each other? Don't be shy, say 'hello!'" He quipped, and Norman cringed at the poor, distasteful attempt at humor, his face flashed bright red, watching the older man sit up on his arms.

"Why don't you be a good boy and get to work, I don't have all day." He ordered, his tone sharp. Jayden looked briefly up at the older man, now feeling watched with every action. The first time, Blake seemed more concerned keeping himself under control, barely looking at him. Now? He had front row tickets, and could feel his eyes burning into the side of his reddening face.

Carter watched with anticipation as the high-class bitch of his seemed to stare endlessly at the prize beneath him. The faraway, glassy look in his stare told him he wasn't actually looking at it as much as simply having his eyes aimed in its direction. He was stalling, watching as the Fed opened his mouth to lick his lips carefully, then swallowed. Allowing him a few more minutes (he had been put into a rather good mood) he watched as Norman apparently "bit the bullet" and ran his fingertips along the dick playfully, watching as his mouth parted slightly almost on instinct as he toyed with the organ.

The man's hands were velvety smooth- it reminded him of the one time he banged this girl dressed in mentioned fabric. He grabbed her by the ass and hoisted her against the wall in an old parking garage. It wasn't the first time Carter had been caught fucking in public; something told the older man it wouldn't be the last. It seemed almost innevitible that somebody would find him and Norman screwing around one day; he just hoped it wasn't somebody who'd known the young man. Or himself, for that matter.

Little swirls, now…Up and down his sensitive and bulbous cock, and it was torture. He might has well been chopping it off instead of teasing. Part of him wanted to reach up and yank down the man's supple lips to wrap around his dick- the other? The other part of him was the one that won out, the curious part. Indeed, with Carter Blake that was the part that always won out. It was this that made him a detective to begin with, and it was this sole trait that he and Norman Jayden shared.

Those fingers went from the bottom shaft all the way up to this head, winding around the bottom of the cap before making its way to the tip. There he took his thumb and forefinger, gently and almost barely rubbing there in semicircles around the slit. Blake's breathing intensified, becoming deeper and more relaxed. It wasn't exciting, far from it, but it _was_ lovely. He made deep, assuring growls in his chest. They came one after another as he sank into relaxation, almost falling into a complacent state where he could slip easily into sleep. Before his eyes drifted shut, he took in his former partner's appearance, Norman's eyes focused intently as it watched his cock twitch and throb as it replied like a good puppy to it's master's touch. His lips pursed, eyes half-lidded and dreary, mirroring his own deep, calm and even sleepy state.

"Jayden…? You gonna stop dick'n _'_round and-"

Jayden's whole right palm started to slide between his closed thighs, finding its way on the area between his ass and testes- strange warmth there that didn't exist in the young man's body before. A chill ran up Carter's back as he let out a small gasp, later biting his lip to keep anything else from getting out. He watched the agent's reaction, a slight tug of the corner of his lip as his gaze stayed focused on his still-erect organ. It began to swell even larger- a pulsing beginning to form from the base and make its way to the tip. Jayden marveled as the large blood vessels that seemed incredibly apparent, watching them enlarge. They made the appendage seem monstrous and daunting- frightening. He wondered how he went about convincing woman to tackle that thing. It was like telling a girl to jump on a rhino's horn.

The man's body felt enormously warm to the touch, boiling with heat and vehement rage. His testes enlarged, engorged with semen and testosterone as his breathing hitched. Eyes traveling upwards, he became impressed at that deep chest of his- rising almost impossibly high as he let out each breath.

"'Promise it'll be worth 'tha wait." The young agent muttered, then slid his hand downward as he began to press into that uncharted territory of skin beneath his testes. He felt his lieutenant jerk in response, then felt him calm right down as his hand pressed further into the hollow area, feeling a spot where there was little fat. Massaging deeper, he felt the thick, coarse pubic hairs slide like a boar's tough mane under his smooth fingers. At this, Norman lifted his rear up once more, and was delighted and surprised when he felt his now willing companion respond, breathing increasing, and legs parting. Soon Norman found himself sitting on his knees, Carter's outstretched and parted thighs beside and around him.

The way the man laid back and his thigh muscles twitch was exciting to him. It was like watching a schoolgirl lose her virginity, and indeed Carter was a virgin to other men- and especially in one area in particular. Norman heated up at the thought, looked down between the man's legs and between his buttocks, and resisted the urge to feel the obviously tight hole that would be there.

Carter never saw the man taking a gander, then just laid back with his eyes closed as he resisted the urge to thrust into the younger man's massage. Christ, he barely touched his cock! How he was doing it, he didn't know…All he was positive of, was that it was beginning to drive him crazy, his organ beginning to ache from the lack of touch. It craved something soft and warm to tighten about it, to cuddle and hold it in its tight embrace. Instead, it only felt the cool air around it, and Blake growled in his chest a little from the neglect.

As one hand toyed with the swath of hair, the other found its way to his dick at long last. It rubbed about his base, until he finally felt a gentle and soft pumping action about his engorged length. An angry sounding yet satisfied puff of air riveted through his lips as his hands clawed at the seat around him. His chest rose once more and fell in a deep sigh as he relaxed. His tense form sank into his seat as he took a few more deep and heavy breaths, finally allowing himself to feel oncoming release. It wasn't a blowjob, but as far as the cop was concerned it was good enough to pass.

Norman watched the man writhe from indulgence. He would have smiled again if he didn't feel so damn ashamed, so disgusted with himself and his actions. Pleasuring this man was like giving a hand-job to some ruthless dictator. He felt like a Jew giving Hitler an HJ- like a president dropping to his knees and sucking dick in order to prevent his country's takeover. He felt loathing and waves of disgust roll over him at the sight of the man beneath him. Now with his eyes shut and face buried deep in his risen left arm. A jolt of pure hatred filled his body as his hand tightened a little on Carter's organ.

A small moan was bit back as he reacted, biting his lip as his hips began to buck upwards. Norman observed in a dark satisfaction as the black-haired man lifted his legs from the car floor and to the sides, spacing them so that they spread more, his left leg resting on the car door's handle and the right on the pushed-down arm rest. All the while, unintentionally revealing more of the man's unclaimed orifice to the agent. A deep blush filled that agent now; watching as Carter unconsciously became more enthusiastic and began to thrust into his own soft hands. Rubbing below the head, his thumb stroked the unprotected sliver of flesh as it went into the small furrow that led it up into the slit.

His eyes widened a little from both satisfaction and disgust as he heard Carter moan, a strangely frightening and disturbing noise. Because it sounded so normal, so satisfied. With that moan, he watched as pre-cum dribbled out in a small squirt from the tip. His blush deepened upon seeing it from this man; not just tasting it by surprise, then felt as he lifted his ass off the seat a little as he began to thrust harder up into his own palm. Norman felt the man beneath him become a writhing hot mass similar to riding a bull in a rodeo- Legs tightening, quivering and pushing up against him. He bit back an involuntary, husky noise of excitement as he felt that pubic hair tickle his bare arm.

Stopping with his right hand, he continued to pump slowly with his left as he felt the man respond with continuous thrusts. He used the now dormant hand to push the man back down, hearing him voice complain in a small growl of disapproval. The man seemed to shift his hips and snort a little, feeling him as he now curled that hand beneath his thigh, feeling the fat and muscle jolt at his touch. For a moment, he stopped and shifted uncomfortably, then realized with an internal groan of dismay that he was pressing against his own pants painfully from the actions he was performing on his on-again, off-again nemesis.

Carter heard a belt jingle- a zipper being pawed at. He opened his eyes and looked sheepishly towards the man pleasuring him between his legs. He witnessed little Norman Jayden fiddling with his pants, reaching down into them as he fondled his own cock. This made the lieutenant sick to the stomach, felt a queasy drop in his gut. Looking away, he felt his body heat up from the embarrassment- Christ from there the kid could see his asshole- that made him beet red.

He wanted to tell the kid to stop- to finish him up and leave. The words never left his lips, however, because his curiosity once again got the better of him. Simultaneously, watching the kid play with himself on his behalf had made his dick pulse and body throb with need. He felt horribly weak as his body shot bolts of pleasure towards his manhood and abdomen, opening his eyes once again to see Norm pull his dick out- Carter looked away to avoid seeing it, to avoid having his organ twitch and harden further as it felt a lustful pride after garnering that sort of reaction from another man.

Norman looked up sheepishly to catch a glimpse of Carter peeking at his erection. He pretended to make it look like he never saw it; went right back to the action at hand. Right then he felt so much better, his dick out of his pants and free to gain some sort of freedom. One hand found his own erection as the other sought the man before him, and began to jerk them both off simultaneously. He watched as Carter jerked at his cool touch, steadily becoming warmer and watching as the older man began to once more thrust into his hand.

The pre-cum flowed again, not quite quitting its desire to lubricate the passage. Carter made a satisfied rumble in his chest, watched as the man's face twist and lips part as his ass once again began to lift off the seat. At this sight, the agent hungrily watched. His own dick began to rise steadily as he saw the man's muscular, hairy thighs lift himself up, the thrusting action reminding him of what he'd love to do to him right then and there.

A dark idea came to the agent, and despite trying it before out of instinct, he knew now was a better time. He may not have been able to fuck the lieutenant out of spite; but he could do the next best thing. Pre-cum began to weep from his own dick, flowing freely as it dripped from the slit and partially soiled the leather seat of the man's car. Then he watched with a sick fascination as a touch of the clear, watery substance dribbled on the other man's thighs, and watched for a reaction, luckily enough Carter didn't seem to notice. The hand that had been pleasuring himself stopped, and once again found it's way to the other man's dick, where it gathered more of his as well.

The fluid was viscous and slick- extremely oily and slippery, like the expensive lube they sell, but smelled sweet and almost appealing. It was clear, and he felt giddy with excitement as he mingled both of their excretions on his fore and middle fingers. His jerking of Carter slowed to a crawl, and he heard the man grumble beneath him as he slowed his climax, watching as that blue shirt of his deflated as he sighed from frustration.

That's when Carter felt the warm, wet sensation tickle that area of skin under his testes again, the perineum. Sloppily teasing the area as he once again pressed into it, massaging it like his back from last night. Yet it was a start of something altogether new, there was something wet on his fingers. Something unpleasant-feeling almost sneaky. Then he felt a middle finger gently brush his anus- and he immediately reacted.

A jolt- a backing away further up the seat. Norman immediately caught him, hands shooting out quickly as they grabbed his thick thighs and pulled back. Yet Carter was and had always been stronger then the younger agent, and Norman had to keep himself from gripping too hard, already putting furrows in his skin from his nails.

"Hey-hey-_hey! _None of that fag shit, I told you-"

Reacting quickly, the younger man's curious yet almost dreamily, drug-induced gaze focused on the prize as he backed up and to the side- moving to the seat opposite of him, then leaned over and wrapped his warm mouth around the older man's dick. Immediately, he slacked in response. Blake's hips fell back to the car seat with a heavy breath. Another grumble released from his chest, and he heard him let out several relieved gasps of air. Carter shifted his hips towards his side, moving so his head lay more on the right side of his headrest. Jayden's hands found the underside of his thighs, pushing them up as he also spread his legs as far as they would go, all the while Blake's heart accelerated and face turned bright red from the position he was in.

Blake wished he could push him off…Just…Step out of the car, pull up his pants and get back to work. Yet as he positioned his head up to catch a gander of the supposedly dead man with his dick quickly disappearing past those pale pink lips, it was far too satisfying to resist. Propping himself up on his elbows, he smiled in satisfaction at finally getting the embrace around his cock that he needed.

"Now that's a good boy-oooh! Oh-" Interrupted by a gasp that sent lovely shivers down his spine, he felt the kid pull back and lick the tip of his cock, tongue digging into his slit as it tasted the pre-cum from before. It was too much to watch- he didn't want to cum just yet. Watching would make him explode in no time. Closing his eyes and laying back down, his hands found his way across his stomach and chest as they gripped his shirt in arousal. Warmth radiating from his crotch and abdomen as pleasure bloomed there like a flower. He could feel his engorged testes resting warmly against another man's neck as they both picked up the rocking motion.

As he began to unconsciously thrust upward into the agent's mouth again, Norman once again reached his still-wet fingers and began to lightly brush that special area he was beginning to obsess over. He didn't feel or hear Blake react, obviously too numb and concentrated on his blowjob. He tried not to think about what he was doing right then, becoming a cock-sucking zombie as he preformed falatio with the keenest of ease. He tried to recall what other men did to him to make him scream, make him want to fuck their faces until they're throats were impaled. The distraction was working nicely.

That middle finger brushed farther against the tightness, and he did feel a slight jolt and hear a low growl of warning. Quick, and easily enveloped in the deep pants and rocking motions of his partner, his own dick strained from the excitement- from the idea of what he was about to do. Rubbing there and hoping to all God Blake was clean- he pushed his middle fingertip past and entered.

"Uhhh…_ahhhh_…" he heard that familiar gasp, the sound of being penetrated. It made his mouth water and jaw slack, lips parting as his eyes rested on his action. Concentrated on his finger sliding into the extremely tight, enveloping orifice that clamped up and resisted his touch. He watched as Blake bit his lip and felt him jolt then shake in surprise, his eyes scrimping shut as his face contorted from both surprise and confusion. It was beautiful.

Hearing it from Blake had to be the single most erotic moment in his life. Norman made an approving moan as he felt him clutch around his finger in denial. It was a natural action, sure, but it turned the young agent on like no other. Blake was attempting to keep him out, yet it resulted in an even tighter passage. Despite just being his middle finger, he envisioned it as his own dick, and it was a rather tempting fantasy to entertain. Deciding to go for broke, he pulled his mouth quickly from his dick, and a horribly squishy and sickening sound resounding as the seal was broken. Blake whined- a noise he honestly could say he never thought he'd hear from the tyrannical beast.

Blake felt all the wind go out of him as he recognized the action- all the air drain from his lungs and his face burn a bright red. It just wasn't right, that was _disgusting_. God, who would _want _to put their finger up there? It made him cringe more from abhorrence and embarrassment then from the concept of being dominated, made him tighten up as he attempted to push the kid out of him. He had been so caught up in the pleasure that he never felt him doing it, thought he had made his point _clear._

God, no- another slid in. He felt those tight muscles stretched, the flesh widening slowly as he prepped him for further penetration. There was discomfort more then out-and-out pain, he wasn't sure how to react and instead squirmed and fussed his hips about- until a warm hand on his right thigh caused him to part his legs further and up out of some primordial instinct. All the weight he walked about carrying all day fought against him as it held him down to the confined space. His breathing quickened as he heard the squishy noise of those wet, slick digits going deeper, his muscles relaxing from curiosity as his parted legs gave him more room. It didn't hurt anymore now at all, it just felt…Wrong. Breath hitching in his throat, he gasped as he lifted his hips- could envision the little prick grinning like a madman, but far too ashamed to look at him- Closing his eyes as he once again dug his face into his underarm, turning away.

After a little bit of thrusting, his ass found its way up to Jayden's palm. Could feel the hand now cupping and pressing deeper, then quite suddenly felt what had to be the single most pleasurable sensation in his life. Words couldn't describe the sudden, powerful feeling that overcame him- spreading throughout his body like a warm wash of water as it enveloped his lower stomach and genitals, causing his breathing to halt and inner legs to pulse with heat. There was a tingling as nerve endings in the base of his penis shot and fired; butt raising off the car seat higher, his back arched into the air as Jayden curled his fingers and palm upwards as he pressed into his prostate and wiggled those fingers.

His mouth opened as he held back a scream in his throat, did his best to keep it hidden down there in the recesses of his body. Then he felt it stroked, carefully and methodically, and above all gently. Then his voice found it's way out, high at first then leveling down to a gruff and harsh 'huff' as his ass towards the seat again.

'_God, who the fuck 'knew **that** was in there?' _The lieutenant thought with abashment- he could simaultasly kiss or fucking kill that little adventurer right now. He'd had prostate exams ever since turning forty, recommended for men his age. Yet it felt totally different. Sure, his doctor was a bit more extreme with it, making him actually lay down in supine position, feet in stirrups. It wasn't something he at all looked forward to, embarrassing and uncomfortable. This felt…Completely different. The atmosphere, the place, the person…

Norman's fingers began to swirl about in circles inside of him, massaging the organ delicately yet effectively. This was too much for the muscular virgin- and he began to pant and draw out deep, shuddering breaths with each stroke. His hips began to follow the movement, lifting up from the seat as they pressed into his hand. Shame washed over him in torrents as he felt the left hand of his tormenter cup his rear, stroking it softly and pushing him into those fingers even more as Blake gyrated his hips.

"Now that'sa '_gode job_, lieutenant…" The words were low and gentle, sounding more affectionate then barb-laced. Like an actual praise. It made his cheeks explode with red as he lent his head back and squeezed his eyes shut even more. _'Jesus Fucking Christ, just stop- I can't stand this sort of humiliation, I can't…I can't…'_

Stroking his ass gently, he felt another pang of deep shame. Why wasn't he stopping this? His arms weren't cuffed, his hands were free- just as that thought started to form, that dreadful, pride-obliterating realization, he felt the fingers pull back. Without thinking he felt himself follow those fingers back until they slipped out, hearing the sickening, gooey sound of the fluid-covered digits leave his tight body. He winced and held back the noise of complain mixed with an odd pulsing sensation that throbbed below. The least he could have done was finish…It was only fair, right?

Norman had a hard time even getting inside the older, more experienced yet still 'pure' man. Carter was easily the tightest man he'd ever fingered. He'd never slept with a virgin before, and he had to admit the excitement was getting to him. What more could a man desire then to "claim" someone's virginity? Make someone their own? It was something that could never be returned to them, and instead would be in another man's possession forever. A swell of overwhelming pride surged through the brown-haired man when he punctured the orifice- a ring of perfect, pink flesh on such a rough and imperfect man.

Christ, it was like pushing into a closed fist- putting in so much force to slide into the forbidden place. Heard the man gasp- felt him resist…It only spurred him on. Then he felt it, that firm and slippery organ that was like a tempting treasure, unknown to most, an inflated balloon in the walls of his colon. It was hard _not _to brush up against it as it swelled from his intense level of arousal. Massaging it had been even more satisfying, feeling the mighty, brutish cop turn into putty in his hands.

Yet he didn't want to overstay his welcome. When he saw Blake start to shift and resist, he slid out. Jayden was ecstatic that he had been clean- they could both save the humiliation. He stopped his own moans from issuing forth, pressing his lips together as he thought only of the man's pride. Instead, he congratulated him, hoping it would fill him with satisfaction instead of shame. He still knew he'd be asking for forgiveness up and down after this.

Hoping Carter wouldn't arise quickly enough to punish him- he did overstep his boundaries to say the least- his hand went to reach for the man's weeping phallus. A fluttering, shaky moan left the man's lips- erotic, yearning- sublime; and Norman almost came onto the man's tight and blushing thighs. Instead, he opened the car door with a heavy strain, leaning over the hot and heavy lieutenant. Panting along with his feverish companion as the "binging" rang; warning the driver that it should be closed or the battery may run out. Angling himself as he straddled one of Carter's bent legs, he watched carefully for anybody making their way towards them.

Facing outward, he beat off the lieutenant in a rough fashion. Pulling at the skin clumsily, wrapping his fingers into the hot folds of skin and stroking as hurriedly as he could. The ultimate blow to the man would have been to make him cum first, so he slowed and stroked himself harder. His own member may not have been as thick or even as long, but it was far from small or unattractive. He leaned his own head back and closed his eyes, biting his lip in the heat of the moment a small moan joined the chorus as Blake let out another, though not nearly as impressive as the one before. It still made Jayden's mouth slack as his lips quivered and eyes squeeze shut, feeling his belly swell with warmth, his testicles feeling as though they were surging back and forth with an explosive thunder that threatened to burst.

In his head he imagined a boyfriend previous. A slut of a man that had left his life in shambles. He wasn't even sure why he thought of him, but looking over at Blake with his erect organ being pleased so roughly was enough to destroy the memory. Fuck Steve and his goddamn bullshit, Blake would fill that void at least for now. It was painful to see a man that had such an untended need sitting right there, almost willing. He'd give his left nut just to plow into him and finish the job-

"_Aaaaahhhh-Christ…_F'auwk_…"_

Carter noticed that when the Norman came- he had reacted as though someone punched him in the stomach. Doubling over and practically exclaiming as though he'd been kicked in his nuts. There was a pause as he watched the kid's face contort with a grimace, looking to be more in pain then pleasure. He closed his eyes shamefully as he felt the kid's hand job briefly pause, then slowly begin to jerk him off again. It was obvious now that his attempt was now more of finishing a job rather then simultaneous pleasure. Pressure began to come to a head, the familiar muscles beginning to clench and blood threatening to burst from their veins.

"Norm- Norman…I'm gonna…Shit, I'm gonna-"

Warm lips wrapped around the large head of his penis, and it took literally split seconds for his body to recognize the sensation and cum explosively hard. His hips bucked upward, literally scrapping along his tongue and shooting his load up, and then down into his throat. Norman would have loved nothing more then to avoid this particular area of this job. It was one of the reasons why he gave a hand, and not a blowjob. He didn't like the idea of walking around with the taste of semen in his mouth all day like yesterday. Donuts tasted so much better.

Yet right now he was trying to make up for the little stunt he pulled. He really didn't need to get cum stains in the man's police cruiser. He winced and shook all over with the taste of the bitter, salty cum in his mouth.

Pulling back slowly, he closed his eyes and hoped he didn't get socked in the mouth. He could hear the sound of Blake catching his breath further back in the seat, feeling a string of milky, steaming fluid connect his mouth to his slowly lowering cock. One swallow, most of it went down; it was noisy and obvious to both of the car's occupants. Trying to please now the man he'd just fingered despite his wishes- Second swallow, slightly less so as he began to pant and breathe in air. A third, then his tongue slathered out and gathered the rest on the throbbing appendage, licking into the slit and wrapping his lips around the head as he sucked out the rest. Effectively cleaning the member and leaving it spotless.

'_Christ, just please 'don fuck'n start shit- not in 'tha mood.' _Final swallow, licking his lips as he did his best to completely absolve his body of the sick fuck's essence. All at once- no turning back. When it was done, it would be done. The worse was over. That was, until he wanted it again tomorrow. It was the deal after all, no more then once a day…

Listening to the sexual cacophony in the car's cabin, Norman's sleepy gaze traveled over to the open door. He had found that he had indeed fired correctly out onto the parking garage's dirty cement floor. A few streams of seminal fluid littered the dirty garage floor, quite surprised by their copious amounts. It had been a long time since his last sexual release, and his first since being dead. He shuddered at that connotation- hoping it wasn't Blake that had actually made him so hot and bothered and simply the action itself. The stream had shot inanely far, easily clearing Carter and his entire seat.

Would giving somebody else completely different a blowjob land the profiler the same sort of response? What if Ash had found ARI and this same deal had come to pass? A sexual outlet for the detective's staunch and busy life instead of a lieutenant's. Would he still be getting stiff, fantasizing about the possibilities it held?

There was something 'off' about Ash that he hadn't liked since they started. At least Carter made a half-baked attempt to work with him. Whereas with the detective he seemed to be an ominous and disgusted threat to his well-being. He had wanted to like Ash just as much as he'd wanted to like Blake, and _be_liked for that matter. God, the two could have had given him a drunken gangbang for all he cared- if it got them to cooperate he would have been up for it.

Ash, to be quite frank…He scared the profiler. Those eyes burned like Greek fire, that posture domineering as he leaned forward and spoke with such authority despite being below the lieutenant he so loyally served. His mouth spat the same flames his eyes harbored, making smart comments that only enraged Norman and wanted to make him explode every time he flicked his serpent tongue. The fact that he and Blake usually came in pairs was like watching a dog and a savage wolf work together- one wearing a blue collar, the other already clothed in grey-

"Nice shot." Carter breathed, then chuckled darkly in his throat.

Jayden tensed, feeling the possibility of an upcoming retaliation. Still, he found it best to play it off as if there was no problem at all. Because, really, hadn't Blake made it obvious that he enjoyed it? Well, obvious to _him, _anyway.

"I didn't want to…" He breathed, panting. His nose inhaled the odor of sex; of bodily fluids, aftershave and hot, humid breath. It was on the verge of either being intoxicating or revolting; unsure if he should breathe it in or inhale through his mouth to avoid it.

"…Get 'it in the car."

Carter's chest rose and fell mightily as he breathed. To the profiler, he appeared like a massive sleeping God, like the legends of old about giants slumbering on the earth, forming landscapes. The man's sleepy and satisfied blue eyes gazed lazily at the car's ceiling, deep with thought and confusion. A massive sigh, and Carter shifted, looking to try to get up, but failing miserably.

"Here, let me help."

With some hesitation, Norman smirked a ghost smile and reached down to the man's clean briefs. '_Maybe he really is going to let this slide?'_Lifting them from the floor, he put one leg through the appropriate gap in the undergarment, around his still-attached shoes- at that point, pulling them up from around his ankles and sliding them over his densely hairy legs. Wincing as he felt the slight cushion of the thick matt of soft black pubic hair provided. He felt Blake reluctantly lift his butt into the air, slid them below, then up around his waist. Normally, the young man would find such activities demeaning, yet it was all to save face. The black slacks followed suit, once again making him pull his rear up to allow them to slide about his hips and snugly hang.

'_I like these pants.' _Norman found himself thinking; his mind now in a relaxed state. _'Soft, feel 'like they'd fit nice. Gotta ask him where he got- I mean…Gotta get him to get me a pair. Wonder if they have different colors?'_

Zipping and buttoning the fly, he found himself reaching around his sides, finding the buckles to his belt and brought them up to couple together. Pulling the belt through the clasp, he inserted the buckle into its well-used hole and cinched it. A sense of pride filled him at a job well done, while simultaneously fighting the roll of shame as it washed over him.

"'There. 'Like nothing even happened. Nobody'll suspect 'enethein."

With this, Norman sat up and looked out the car driver's side window. Nobody was in sight, and he opened the door carefully as he stood up and stepped out into the outside world. There he stood tall, looking left and right to look for passer-bys. As far as he could see, it was dead in here. He cracked his back and stared lazily at the ceiling as he let a full shudder pass through his frame. A deep sigh, then another not long after that. He heard as Blake shifted, moving his seat until it was back in its previous position. After some leather-seat squeaking, he heard the seat pop back into place.

"C'mere, Norman."

His voice was frightening to the brunette because it wasn't his typical angry, condescending tone. It was upbeat; it was the way a parent scolded its child before telling them to jump on their lap for a spanking. If Norman refused, he knew it wouldn't make matters any better. There was no getting out of the repercussions coming his way; he just wondered exactly how it would happen.

Turning around, he gulped in reflex as he stared down at the man leaning against the seat in a heated, embarrassing afterglow. His cheeks were slightly red as his eyes were downcast, shifting in his seat as he appeared uncomfortable from the previous experience. He felt a sense of self-serving pride when he realized he effectively fag-iffied the lieutenant, his previous homophobic slurs now self-condescending.

These thoughts made an inescapable smirk dart cross the young man's face. For once in a long time, he felt a sort of warmth inside him- his face no doubt was alive and full of color. The boyish charm that emanated from his face as he smiled- a sort of facsimile in place to fool the world, like a animal's natural defense to convince others he was harmless. A simple, clean, nice guy. Not that that was a wrong assessment- Norman was a good man who thought of others far before himself, yet he was far from that simple. Even farther away from clean and innocent then most could ever grasp.

He appeared like a puppy, rolling over to display his pink tummy to the older, larger dog. Showing his innocence to the more experienced elder to trigger its natural instincts not to attack something so weak and fragile; so essential to the species. He would be sniffed, evaluated, left alone-

Except Norman wasn't a puppy. Or even a dog for that matter. Before he could blink, as he stooped down to hear what the other man had to say- a hand grabbed him around the throat and squeezed as hard as he could. For a second the younger man felt absolute panic at not having control of the situation. Literally having his life in the hands of another. That hand was like an iron claw; unmovable and crushing. It honestly didn't seem like Carter's hand was made of flesh and bone- as it clamped down, superseded his own pulpy tissue, and pinch his larynx.

No- He was a cat to be swatted down.

Jayden reached up after the initial shock, gasping and attempting to breathe in the air his struggling body so needed. Flesh that wasn't, bone and organs that barely existed. Yet it apparently enough so to be tortured this way. No air came in, not a sound escaped his lips as there was no vehicle capable to make a noise, the throat effectively sealed out. His frightened digits clamped around the intruder's single hand, trying in utter vain to remove them.

The only mode of communication, his eyes, bulged and darted as he looked towards the lieutenant. His face was cold, almost emotionless from either joy or terror for the Fed's life.

"…told you not to touch me like that-" His words cut in and out.

A shake. A small cry came from his throat as Blake eased up.

"-ever do that again! You hear me?"

Jayden's chest flailed wildly, taking advantage of the new slight airway given. It wasn't enough, though. He'd die soon if he didn't let go. Or at least pass out. Small squeaks like a mouse left his throat as he tried to plead.

"What was that, _Norman? _You don't want me fuck'n strangling you? 'So sure I shouldn't just do it anyway? You sick _fuck."_

Spots. Lazy, circling spots…The world was fading. Not again. He'd just come back again…What would it be like this time?

Then it wasn't. He was breathing again. He felt a harsh throw- a hit to his back as he cringed, then air. He desperately sucked it in, pushed it out- breathing was like a chore now. A conscious act. Christ, he'd swear he'd never take breathing for granted again. Panting with earnest, he looked up with half-lidded eyes as he sat with his back to the car.

"…lucky I like you."

'_Like me? Nice way to show it, asshole.'_

"…Like…Like?" He panted between spat words.

He could hear Blake chuckle darkly, then explain.

"…Yeah, you're not half bad…As long as you stay in line."

Norman made a face that resembled a pig, scrunching up his nose and giving a nasty eye to the man he'd just pleasured. Carter looked up and away from the slowly recovering youth, whose back lay against Perry's black and silver BMW, whom he was always so fucking jealous of. He himself had to drive a squad car; fucking Leighton got to drive whatever he wanted, and could afford the hot piece of machinery to begin with.

'_Oh fuck…'_

The car door had a nice Norman-shaped dent in the side of its car door. He remembered hearing the metal flex as he threw the deceased agent against it…He honestly never thought it would leave an impression, though.

'_If he finds out it's me, he'll have my ass in a sling…'_

Except he wouldn't; that he would make sure. There were no cameras in this particular area, something he made sure of before he agreed to this plan. An oversight on the precinct, he'd have to admit. Vandalism on police vehicles in their own garage wasn't something they normally had to worry about.

Blake was due for a promotion in five years. He knew it, the fact constantly hovering over his head. Perry had another five in him, then it was in his plan to run for mayor. Blake was next in line, with Ash very likely to fill his old role. He didn't do the stereotypical "I dream of the day I'm finally captain…" bullshit; but he very well looked forward to having complete authority. It was practically arousing in its scope. Having an office to himself, his own secretary to handle the bullshit while he could practically jerk off on the state's tax dollars behind closed doors. Captain Blake; yeah, he liked the fucking sound of that.

Needless to say, this little hiccup might complicate things. It didn't look like an open door hit the side, it literally appeared as though a human being had indeed been thrown mercilessly into the thin sheet of metal covering the car's frame. He told himself he'd just have to play stupid. Blake couldn't even conjure another lie to fill that particular incident.

Hearing a groan, he focused downward again to the struggling brunette. Putting a hand back, he pushed himself up only to have to fall back down on his ass. A frustrated growl left his lips as he lacked the ability to even stand properly. A surge of disgust hit Blake, and reached for the napkins in the center console, left over from the donuts, flinging them out towards him and watched them barely make it as they floated haphazardly in the air.

"Clean your hands off. What you did was disgusting."

"Ya' mean touching you? Yeah… it was."

A small laugh coupled with a flash of his temper struggled to show itself. No matter what he did to the little prick, he always remained defiant. There was only one thing he could think of that would put him in his place- but he dared not wonder into that forbidden territory. One-half of Blake didn't care, honestly, because he didn't have to worry about what others thought of him. The other…The other was his masculinity, strong, indignant, dominant, virile…Almost feral. It was telling him making Norman suck his dick was taboo enough, allowing it simply because of its humiliating, submissive, and feminine role.

He hadn't known what to think when Jayden touched him like that…It was something he didn't want to understand, the concept it held frightening. He didn't want to like it, and therefore it terrified him to even _his _icy core. Blake could easily live what just happened; he lived with worse on a daily basis. Yet if he admitted to himself that when Jayden went deeper into him; he wanted nothing more then a good, hard cock in his ass instead, he'd never be able to look at himself the same again.

This kid was a curiosity. Part of him was coming to admire the suited agent as he continuously stood up against him. Something not many people could ever say they did. Blake's dark eyes held a certain harshness that made people want to tell the truth; made even grown, muscular criminals stand down. Those eyes did nothing to the young man but stare back with odd, ghostly eyes that held a myriad, abnormal inquzzive nature to the world around him and beyond.

"Ya' seemed pretty eager to me!" The lieutenant chastised a slight laugh to the end of his quip. Blake could feel his face just heat up at the memory; could still smell the odor of sex in the car. As far as he could recall, the little bastard couldn't be held back from lapping up his cum. Though he had to admit he was rather grateful that Jayden shot his own load outside. His own ejaculate in his car would have been gross, but acceptable until he got the chance to clean. Another mans? That would have been utterly disgusting and would warrant a good 'old fashion beat-down.

Finding a wet toilette from a previous McDonald's trip in his glove department, he flung it towards the seated agent as he watched him clean off each finger. He appeared to have a look of disgust in his face, nose wrinkled and eyes squinted nearly shut.

"Use that before you get back in my cah'r. Oh, and you smell like a _whore_. You're showering tonight whether you like it or not."

Norman felt a sting to his pride as he finally got himself up, wincing as he felt a crick in his back. Putting a hand back there, he closed his eyes and grimaced at a sudden memory.

'_Fuck'n Mad Jack…'_

God, now he remembered why he felt like such shit during the whole remainder of the case, and even now. It had been the most physical case he'd ever worked on. The run in the marketplace as he chased Korda was bad enough to his strained body; it didn't help when he had to catch Ethan, then he had to deal with the madman known as Carter Blake in the interrogation room, and another completely in the junk yard. Facing Scott Shelby in Paco's office just about killed him. His body had become nothing but a bruised, stretched-thin pack of damaged nerves, flesh and nearly broken bones. Barely able to keep on his own two feet and in dire need of a good night's sleep. Resting until noon and forgetting about the whole ordeal would have been a dream.

"Gladly. Gladly…I'd take a fawk'n showar…"

He did stink. Jayden felt gross, covered in sweat and sexual fluids. Now that Carter mentioned it, all he wanted to do was get back to his place so they could shower- _he_ could shower! He, himself…Alone.

'_Did I just think that? What the fuck…I keep forgetting. We're not like that…What was it he said? 'Business partners'? '_

"Good. Get in the car before someone sees you."

Norman practically blushed, feeling like a 'good little bitch' as he shakily got up as ordered, looking around to make sure they weren't being watched. The garage was relatively silent, luckily enough. Opening the car door and getting in, he recognized the last traces of sexual stench as he breathed in with a sort of relief. Looking to the left, he watched as Carter reached deep into his coat pocket and retrieved a red box of cigarettes.

He swore his mouth started to water, and licked his lips subconsciously. Watching as the man that sat next to him ripped open the plastic wrap, taking out the white cylinder and handing the pack to the young man without the need to ask. Norman gladly took the box, hearing the foil crinkle as he took out one for himself.

"Thanks…" Jayden admitted under his breath, not forgetting the earlier hostility. Especially after he showed the man so much affection by giving him so much pleasure. Even if Blake himself would never admit it.

Watching as Blake lit his cigarette; he took a few puffs then once more flicked the lighter as he leaned over and lit his companion's. Jayden leaned in a bit to ease the action, and then inhaled deeply as he felt the back of his throat singe. Taking the stick between his fingers, he quickly took it out and coughed loudly, raising his hand to his mouth as his whole body violently gyrated from the action. Something told him it would take a while for him to get used to it.

A moment of peace existed between the two bitter rivals for a few shuttered minutes in time- they puffed on their cigarettes and hung their hands out the car windows to dab away the ash. Norman watched as Carter did his best to blow the smoke out the open window. He followed suit, trying to be the best 'guest' he could while in this beast's care. There was an awkward silence as Norman averted his eyes and looked out towards the garage, sighing in a tired manner as he attempted to gather himself. He felt dirty; gross and could even smell his own heavy musk wafting from his clothes. Christ, was that BO? He hated to say it, but Carter had a better body odor then he did. Even when he was clean…Something about that over-abundance of masculinity both frightened and irritated the younger man from the very beginning.

Looking over with that thought, haunting eyes traveled over to the operating ARI system on the lieutenant's face. Apparently, he had put them back on not long after he lit the cigarette. It glowed brightly with an eerily fitting blue light, illuminating his tired eyes less so then the wrinkles around them. Then he watched as those same lines seemed to contort, and Carter raised a hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose, bumping the system slightly while he did so.

"Damn…" With that mutter he reached up and took them off, then checked to see if Norman still resided beside him. He did. Now he had a concerned look on his face, and he furrowed his brow as he tilted that masculine head of his.

"What?"

The dead man shrugged- only slightly. More of a showing of a slight submission then of a look of general confusion.

"Ya gett'n headaches yet?"

Blake went rigid, a whole tightening of every possible muscle he had conscious control over in his body. Then a second later, he slacked again. Looking towards Jayden with curious eyes, he did his best to keep his façade guarded instead of letting it fall down and appear fearful. He could tell that he wasn't going to get away appearing as though he didn't react, he was looking right at him when he felt himself go rigid. One really couldn't miss that.

"Yeah, actually." Looking towards his steering wheel, he took a puff of the cigarette and blew the smoke out as he attempted to avoid eye contact with the man seated next to him.

"It gets really bad sometimes. I've been able to deal with it for the most part…" Trailing off, he flicked the ashes out the window and waited for a response. It drove him nuts to think he was actually waiting from advice from _Norman _of all people.

Nodding slowly, the ex-agent looked forward and out the windshield. A few tense minutes passed as he heard him part and then lick his lips nervously, neglecting the cancer-stick in his right hand.

"That's normal, actually." Jayden finally uttered, nodding again as he looked towards his companion.

"I still get the'hm sometimes. How bad are they?"

"What? Like…On a scale of one to ten?"

"-Are they the worse you've ever had? Does it fe'hl…Unusual?"

"Not the worst headache, no, not as bad as a…a migraine…Though, yeah, now that you mention it…It did feel pretty… weird."

"How so? Does it fehl like a w'urm is crawl'n 'round your brain?"

Carter swallowed, it was obvious to the car's other occupant that he had just struck something right on target.

"That's right. That's exactly what it feels like..."

Another pause, pregnant with discomfort, and Norman nodded again.

"Sounds about right. Though I nevah had those until a good week in'ta the program. I don't know how, Cartah, but you're really excell'n-"

"Great." He let out with a sigh. "It's _nice _to know my brain is being eaten alive by a pair of glasses-"

"Listen." A sigh from Norman, a hand against his forehead as he closed his eyes and leaned his elbow against the armrest of the door.

"It's a fu'hked up system, I admit that. It's changing you inside like a virus; but that's not what ca'hn kill you. It's misuse- it's overuse. It's es'ah to get addicted to. Like cell phones, like the internet…"

He heard Carter try and talk when he did, then stop as he suddenly began listening to his sensible-sounding companion. Yet another moment of silence, a loaded pause that made the lieutenant nervously chew at the inside of his lip. He took another drag of the white stick in his fingers and rolled the cylinder about between his middle and index- this was all too much for him to really fathom. He was far from the stupid, ignorant man he projected by his rash behavior. But he got frustrated too quickly, especially when something came along that he didn't immediately understand.

"This is all _fucked _up." He breathed out with disgusted venom to his tone.

"You do know that, right? Those glasses, you being here…"

Jayden smirked a little as he gave a nod, inhaling a drag from the cigarette as it warped into a full-fledged smile as he turned to look at the man next to him.

"I fig'yarded that out a while ago- when I came back from the dead. Thanks."

Blake barely smiled, then turned his head to take a final, long inhale as he leaned out the window and let the last bit of smoke out. Ash was his usual smoking buddy, but he'd been cutting back lately. Really, he should do the same. Though right now, he had to admit it just felt good to…unwind. Smoke and sit next to somebody that _he _knew, yet was unaware of all his own vices. Didn't have to talk about Ash's woman troubles or his own looming old age- talk of finally finding a decent catch to 'settle down' with and plant his seed so his life would go on in at least _some_ way. He supposed that's what he _should _do, but felt himself absolutely bored with the idea.

Sure, he wanted a kid. He'd wanted one since when he was in his early twenties. Came close- yet for reasons he didn't like to think about, it just never happened. It also wasn't that he didn't want to commit. He'd held the same job for over twenty years and told himself he could easily hold something down as simple as marriage. But…Why? He couldn't stand having someone hover about him, watching and criticizing his every move. Running his life. He even took advice the wrong way. It was evidenced enough by his relationships thus far. He was far too busy, barely had the time to live in his house and clean, let alone be able to raise a family. Casual sex was a rare find in itself, but at least it only lasted the night. Not to mention…Carter rather enjoyed being the dirty old- cop- bachelor.

Thinking about it made him smile a little inside…He came home with two girls about five months ago. Two! Years ago he got three in bed, though it didn't work out as well as he'd thought. No, two was a good balance…Shit he could never do if he was in a relationship. Cruising the bars on a Friday night, liquoring up hapless young things to take home. Few saw his charming side outside of the late hours on the weekend night. Before either of them knew it, he'd be running his hand along their legs and up their skirt- the young thing blushing horribly as he rubbed there and made them putty in his grasp.

Actually, now that he brought it up…He wondered what Norman's mother was like? Many of those upper-class Boston mothers were rather hot numbers for their age. He preferred younger woman, sometimes literally right out of high school, but he'd take an older MILF if he could. The idea of slamming Norman's mother couldn't help but make him twitch in his pants, a small wash of arousal flooding his system suddenly and making him shift in his seat. Oh, the look on his face if he were to find out!

"So, what's your mother like?" Carter asked, a bird practically singing in his voice as he flicked away his cigarette and pushed the button on his electric window to seal it.

Norman reacted slowly, going from a longing stare out the window, to shrugging his shoulders and looking down towards the car's center console.

"She's nice. She'll probably be aski'n all kinds of questions…They never did tell her how I died."

Looking back out the window, he hoped the lieutenant would actually ask him more about his family. He wasn't sure why, though he could guess. One part of it was perhaps his desire to finally tell somebody about his family troubles. Another was to make sure Carter was prepared for tomorrow…Another, he fretted to think it, was that it meant they were bonding a little. They both reacted as though nothing akin to a jerk off, ass-play session ever happened. Just two men smoking and talking. Why did he want that so much? Why did he want to form any kind of relationship with this heinous creature?

He could tell Blake wanted to say something else, but he beat him to it.

"My dad'll want to talk to you, too. Though I'm sure he'll give two shits about anything you actually h'ave to say. He's a fuck'n Realtor the last I checked…Probably try and convince you to quit 'your job and move up to Boston. He's reeeal convinc'cin of it, too."

"A Realtor?" Blake laughed a little in his throat. "Are you fuck'n serious, Jayden?"

Rolling his eyes, Jayden lifted his left hand, currently situated on the center console in a motion that only indicated "I know." in a disenchanted manner.

"Used to'be a trader. Then he want'd something to get out of the house…He's not with my mom anymore, by the way… He's got some bimbo on his tail now, she's a model. Easily thirty years younger then 'em…"

He heard the expected more stifled laughter to his left side, "Lucky bastard." Carter released.

Norman just shrugged, withholding the normal outburst he'd let out if he had been talking to anybody else. It was a touchy issue for him, but with Carter-and in this situation, he knew better.

"Everah'body says that- but ever'ah time I've ever seen him, he's been prett'ah miserable. She just wants his money- and she gets plenty of it…I'm _glad_. "

Carter nodded absent-mindingly, narrowing his eyes a little as he titled his head slightly off center to the left- he'd never heard the man next to him talk like that. Or hell, even _act_ like that. A vindictive streak, a hateful crawl estranged to his normally peaceful and accepting persona. It was refreshing, as if finding a crack in a supposedly perfect piece of fine china.

"Any siblings?"

"Oh, plenty. Mostly half-brothers and sistahs. My first sistah is the only one I'm really close to. She's gonna probably be the one you'll be talk'n to the most. She's a nice girl, even if her husband is trash. She should be eight months pregnant if I remember r'ite. Name's Lucille…I …I really wish I could at least 'hav seen her one last time."

Another side of Norman he never saw. Just as shocking as the last revelation- his voice got shaky at the end of that sentence, on the verge of…crying? Christ, he looked over and saw his eyes glimmer in the small amount of light the garage gave out. Then watched as he turned his face away to stare out the window again, obviously wanting not to be seen in such a weak state.

Blake wasn't going to say anything. It would have been in his character to belittle the hotshot agent, to put him down and call him the biggest pussy alive. His mouth opened with a small smile, ready to do just that. Then something made him stop, made the insult stop at his tongue.

'_The man died and misses his family. Don't be such an asshole.'_

Every great now and then even the mighty Carter Blake knew when he had crossed the line. Doing something that even he knew was a pure out-and-out dick move. That didn't mean he was about ready to lend a shoulder to lean on- but instead simply prompted him to do nothing at all.

He breathed, turning his own head and staring out the window himself. Avoiding the awkward air as he cleared his own throat. "Well… I'll make sure she's…okay."

Looking over with a slight stoop to his posture and a tired, sad look in his eyes. Norman mustered a smile the best he could.

"…I'd appreciate that, Cartah."

Making the mistake of looking the older man in the eyes as he said that, Norman found a look that he was quite unused to as he locked glances momentarily. It was a look of…Christ, understanding? What the _fuck?_

Since when did Carter give a shit about anything but himself?

Oh no, wait…That was right, during the Origami Killer case, he actually did seem rather bothered by the whole situation- the fact that children and not grown adults were being targeted, that Shaun Mars was on his way to death somewhere as he toiled looking for what Carter had understood as 'Washington beaurcratic bullshit' instead of 'actual police work'. Though it was still Jayden's honest oppion that it was more the man's controlling and overtly aggressive nature coupled with a potentially bipolar, psychotic psychosis that prompted his outbursts- there was an impatient, intolerant disgust that seemed to writhe there underneath that cold exterior as a child suffered while they 'wasted time'. It was simply fuel to his already potent fire.

"Yeah, well…" Carter thumbed his nose, then leaned forward as he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. "I know what it's like, I mean…Fuck, I wish I could see mine again."

"…Your sister?" He asked, smiling a little as he hoped that this rival of his had a feminine counterpart.

"Yeah-"

"Did she move away?"

Another awkward pause, a moment of tense air.

"No, uh…No, she's dead."

'_Aw fuck, Norm.'_

Right then, the young ex-agent felt like the biggest asshole there was. What the hell was wrong with him? Not everyone was as fortunate as he had been- had a big family that managed to make it all to adulthood, did well, prospered. Sure, he reminded himself he was just as unfortunate as Blake's poor sister- yet understood this wasn't about him in the slightest. Try as he might, he felt in the wrong.

"Oh." He vaguely recoiled, making it obvious to the other man that he had effectively fucked up.

"I'm sorry- I shouldn't-"

"Stop fucking apologizing, _Jayden_." He spat, the gentleness almost completely vanishing as he once more put up his shield of animosity.

"It was years ago. I'm over it- I _handled_ it... What about you? You gonna start ballin' 'cause Mommy and Daddy don't love each other any more?"

Norman's face scrunched up into vehement disgust as he looked at the man with returned contempt. It took everything in his power not to throttle the other man and send him reeling into the great beyond to join him.

"Fuck off."

Carter smiled at the return of their previous standing relationship- impatience mixed with a strange, pseudo-sexual flavor that had begun in mere under-lying thoughts and stares during the Origami Killer case, only to amplify now that Norman had become dependent on him.

"Not now- maybe later?" He mused with a chuckle.

He had to admit he didn't see the next action coming- A sudden movement as he looked to the side, and Norman was getting out of the car. Slamming the car door harshly as he heard him walk away in a huff. For a moment, terror clutched the older man as he watched his suited shadow disappear past his car windows.

"Jayden!"

Quickly, he acted as he opened his own door and stood up. Looking right to left, he pressed his lips together as his heart hammered in his ears. If somebody caught not only Jayden, but him and Jayden _together_…God, he'd lose everything. Perhaps that would be before or _after _he went to federal prison for the rest of his natural life?

There was no answer, no shadow, no hint that the profiler was still in this plane of existence. He spent a good twenty minutes walking around the garage, only to find no hint. He assumed at this point that he had just faded away into whatever other reality he resided in when he wasn't in this one.

With a disconcerted sigh, he found himself hurrying back to his car to make sure it was locked, taking another glance at Perry's BMW as he decided to get his story straight. There was no paint on his own car, and it looked nothing like a door opened into his side- so he thought he was safe. Checking his watch, he quickly made his way to the elevator as he did his best to look casual towards the few officers still walking around.

Part of him still worried about the agents, if they were still in the parking lot somewhere, tailing him. A disgusting wash of shame heated him up as he wondered if they somehow saw what just happened between them. If they knew what was going on with the dead agent and an aroused homicide-division lieutenant. If they were that fucked up, he honestly would rather be cuffed now. An impatient man, he sought results immediately. That was the last thing they were granting him for the time being.

He was about to take off towards the elevators again when he felt a horribly gripping pain rip through his abdomen. Stopping him dead in his tracks, he paused as he doubled over and grabbed at his stomach, releasing a cry of discontent as it rippled and surged with such force, it felt like it was devouring itself whole. For the briefest of moments, he was about ready to consider it some sort of condition, when it paused and growled inside again.

No, it was just a hunger pain. Pure and simple. Though it was by far the worst he'd ever felt. It coursed and rattled inside; contorting as it tried to inform its host that it desperately craved nourishment.

'_What the fuck is wrong with me?' _He complained inside his struggling head, letting out a small whine as he stood up. Blake considered just going back to the office and dealing with the body-crippling agony, yet instead decided he would have enough time to drive over to some sort of nearby fast-food establishment and fill himself until he swore he'd puke. If it took too long, fuck it. It was the eve of Norman's funeral, and nobody gave a shit about his problems currently. Perry trusted his men to do what they were supposed to, as long as it kept him from being crucified by the press. Take a two-hour lunch? Who gave a shit?

Well, certainly not him. Jogging back over towards the car, he fumbled for the automatic lock on his key chain, got in and adjusted the seat back it its comfortable position. It rumbled to life quickly as if copying its owner's sudden and violent need. Carter knew that it had to be the glasses doing this; no normal living thing could eat what he just did and still be famished, as though he hadn't eaten in weeks. Reaching down as he drove, he stopped at a red light and felt his belly- it was flat as could get. Even sunken in slightly. Apparently, all that food was going somewhere, and it wasn't coming out the other end. At least, nothing beyond normal. Otherwise, he'd have been in the toilet every few minutes.

Licking his lips, he found the familiar red-and-white sign of a KFC, then sped forwards, hitting the turn signal like a bear pawing a fish, turning him into the appropriate lane and making the turn into the parking lot then drive through. He barely took the time to look, pulling up to the speaker as the lady offered some sort of promotion, to which he agreed hurriedly, adding several courses of meat and biscuits to his order. An extra-large drink order was asked for, suddenly feeling just as thirsty as well.

'_Diabetic? Am I diabetic now? Isn't that a symptom? Well, drinking a lot is…I don't think eating…'_

The asshole in front of him was slowing down his need to feast, the car a total piece of shit, a rickety 1980's era Honda Civic that had rust growing everywhere, but especially over the car wheels. A large, thickly clothed arm reached out the driver's side; he had apparently been taking his time in gathering the pennies to hand to the teenage boy inside the paying window. An impatient Carter Blake laid on the horn, causing the punk kid inside to glance back and give him an irritated look as he slowly gassed it in order to make it to the next window and acquire his greasy food.

Meanwhile, his stomach lurched in agony. Feeling as though his organs were literally dismantling his own intestines in order to feed his apparently needy body. Nailing on the gas, his mouth watered as he could smell the cheap, fatty food as it wafted from the pay window. The acne-strewn kid's face looked rather worried as money was practically thrown at him, a $50 he had just barely pulled from his wallet that he was sitting on in his back pocket. He swallowed the thick spit that was forming in his mouth as the change was dealt out, being thanked as he sped quickly into the spot in front of him-

'_Oh fuck.'_

The pain in the ass was slow again, and he hit the back of the shitty pale-blue Civic too hard for his liking…Well, actually, it was partly satisfying in many ways. His head and neck sailing back as the car in front of him cushioned most of the blow. For a moment his head spun, feeling a dizzying sensation as he struggled to understand his current location and predicament.

A horn wailed in the background, and it took him a while to understand that it was his own. There was a door slam, and the belligerent occupant of the victimized car strutted l over to the older man still seated in his light grey Taurus.

"'The fuck you do' in?" He spat in a disgusting tone of voice, one to match his appearance. He appeared in his early thirties, face sunken in, eyes bloodshot and looking to have just finished binging on some sort of illegal Mary Jane, dressed in a thick hoodie with a Ravens logo splashed across his chest-

'_Ohhhh, here we fuck'n go…'_

"Get back in 'your fuck'n car." Carter slurred, his eyelids sticking together as he tried to keep them open. A headache hammered from back to front, focusing behind his eyes and throbbing unmercifully. He was in no mood and still fastidiously hungry.

"Get outta '_your _car! You dented my bumper you stupid fuck-"

His door was opened with a combination of his unlocking, pulling the handle with a kick, his face a scowl as anger coursed through his veins. Literally seeing red like a bull in the midst of a charge.

"Fuck'n shithead! You get in the car and drive off-" He pulled out his wallet, barely grabbing it from its thrown, discarded state on his passenger seat. Promptly, flipping the badge down as it exposed his status as a police lieutenant. "- Or I'll cuff your ass and say you backed into _me._"

The punk kid- white as a ghost from the lack of sun, face scruffy from what was probably a long day of not working- was not so much surprised as angry. Carter had taken a few steps forwards when he presented the badge, eyes full of determination and carrying with him an already claimed victory. The junkie's eyes darted from the police lieutenant to the inside of his car- and the action didn't go unrecognized by the veteran cop. Watching as the skinny-but-long-limbed prick dove inside his car, he pulled the same action.

Throwing all the weight into the car, he huffed in air from the exertion as his head pulsed and throbbed, proceeding to reach into his glove box and yank out his gun.

'_Be there first, be there first, be there first!'_

Standing to attention, he aimed the gun as the other man was just pulling out a crowbar. Really? A crowbar? He held it up in an action as to throw it, but stopped as he found a gun pointed straight at his chest, the cop standing there in a rather unprofessional stance as he aimed the gun loosely with one hand, his eyes barely staying open as his other hand twitched and pulsed at his side. Even his legs were splayed as he attempted to keep upright.

This scared the kid worse, because now it was obvious this wasn't just a cop. He was fucked up on something, obviously. The kid was an avid THC user, recognized the glazed look in his eyes as being drugged and tired- confused, and even hungry. With this, he instead took a shuddering breath, looking to his crowbar, then to the pissed lieutenant. Dropping the bar, it clattered purposely on the cement as drops of water splashed about from the collision. Raising his arms, he seemed to have trouble grasping the shitty situation he got himself into. He just wanted a goddamn bucket of chicken! His mouth worked as she tried to talk, then made a few attempts at some words before he finally remembered how the process worked.

"Hey man- it's okay? I can hook you up-"

"_Now_- what the hell are you talk'n about-?" Blake spat, more irritated then anything.

"I can get you whatever you need man, coke, crack, I even got some dope right here, dude…Won't even hafta go far." He rotated his palms to the side in a motion to indicate his desire to placate the apparently withdrawn cop.

Blake was stunned; he'd like to say he didn't get surprised anymore after all these years…But this really was something. A dealer trying to sell to a cop at point-blank? In a KFC drive-thru after a fender bender, no less? Of course he'd been offered everything from sex (men and woman alike) to money, to drugs as bribes, he wasn't the bribing type. It insulted him more then anything. Never like this, though. This man seemed so damn sure of himself that he was gonna make a deal happen right here.

Laughing a bit in his throat and shaking his head rapidly to steady his vision, he felt the hunger tear at his innards and make him almost fall over. Clenching his teeth and making a noise of withheld agony, staying behind his pressed lips as he stumbled.

"You think you got _balls _pull'n this shit with me?"

"No! Nnnno- not at all-"

Strolling forward, Carter refused the ability to control himself as he pushed the fucker back with one hand. The punk looked surprised, barely able to control himself from hitting the hard, wet surface below.

"I'm not playing y'ur asshole games! You tryin' to sell me drugs, eh? Think you're some big hotshot-"

"Please! I got kids- "

"Oh do you? Do 'ya, shithead? Well, aren't _you_ something special?"

Grabbing him by the hood, he pulled the shorter man (for once it felt good to push around a man actually smaller then him.) and thrust him back into the car, hearing him grunt awkwardly in an almost feminine fashion. Slamming the door on his legs, he heard the man cry out at the impact, then yell once more as the crowbar was tossed inside, striking him on the back.

"Have fun telling your kids how you fucked up your back, _asshole_…"

It didn't take long after that. A huff and struggled walk back to his car later, Carter all but glanced back at his own front bumper, noticing there wasn't much but a few scratches of paint. This surprised yet delighted him, glad he wouldn't have to go to the garage before the trip down to Washington tomorrow. He breathed out in frustration, glad he at least had his job to still throw fear into other people's hearts. Not to mention his bestial rage to back it up.

There was a woman at the food window, she had looked repulsed, too shocked to back away, but too horrified to act as though nothing at all was wrong. Behind him, cars lined had long since backed away further into the parking lot that lay beyond. At the sight of a gun, they wanted to leave before things had escalated.

The lieutenant grabbed the two large bags of food from the surprised teenage girl, they were already spotted from the greasy meals they contained. He threw the girl a cautionary look as her eyes stayed on him all the way to his slightly scratched car, all the while hearing a cascade of beeps rain down as he sat back in, then put his car into gear and took off. It was only when he pulled out of the restaurant's parking lot and back into the precinct's garage that he let himself go.

A breath of air departed his lips, his head slowly lowering to the steering wheel, touching it lightly with his forehead as he closed his eyes, letting out yet another bought of air as he tried to steady his beating heart.

'_Goddamn it, Norman…What did you do to me?'_


	12. Behind the Wall of Sleep

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, sex between two men, (In later chapters.) Some gay stereotyping, because...it's funny. xD**

Author's Note: **Yeah, so...Again, I take wayyy longer then I expect to. I feel like an asshat-douchebag for taking so long. The longer and more complex these chapters get, the longer they may take. The real culprit is work and school; so BOOOOO! Hiss! Annnnyway, I really hope to (again) try and get the next chapter up sooner. This is an unusual chapter, I had fun writing it- so the only way to let me know what you think is to REVIEW, YOU WHORES.**

**K, thanks. :3**

* * *

**_"I believe in a long, prolonged, derangement of the senses in order to obtain the unknown."-_**_Jim Morrison_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

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The cramps ripped at him again. Making him wince, his face contorting into a sudden and violent display of agony. It felt like he was being stabbed in the worse way, and the knife being twisted when it was fully seethed by his flesh and muscles.

"Aw…Gawd…"

Norman wasn't sure what was worse, the withdrawals or these new hunger pains. Grabbing at his stomach, he tried to feel some evidence of mass inside- but only found his ribs poking from his skin. Bringing his knees to his chest, he wrapped his arms about his legs and held himself there in a fetal position. He acted as though he was a woman about ready to deliver a child, muscles rippling and internal organs lurching as he listened to his belly gurgle and growl with intense hunger. Christ, if only he had his Tripto! It always would always relieve pain like this almost instantly.

'_Jus' go away…'Jus please, go away…I can beat this, but…Please jus' go away-'_

Then it did. He blinked as he felt the hunger evaporate, a slow, almost oddly filling sensation envelop his gut. Another few seconds, and he blinked again…In disbelief as he suddenly felt the exact opposite sensation- extremely full. Gas began to build up steadily in his esophagus, and he opened his mouth as he burped loudly. Recoiling as he tasted some sort of deep-fried food, realizing it was chicken. The combination of herbs and spices making him cringe; he hated KFC.

'_What the fu'wk…?'_

Jayden shook as he lay in the bare-bones bed. Back in the manifestation that was supposed to be a sort of hybrid between the old Martha's Vineyard house and Blake's modest one-floor home. His head lay against a cool pillow, feeling his own breath exit his nose and hit the fabric, also freezing the appendage as it floated back to greet it.

'_I feel like I'm a walkin' corpse, empty and co'hd…Except with a belly full 'a food. What does that make me, a zombie? I suppose I should worry if I start craven' brains…'_

A sigh, and he let his eyes shut. His filthy, stained suit oddly comforting in this odd situation. He had disappeared not long after the incident in Blake's car, ending up here again. Jayden supposed he should be grateful, as this was exactly where he wanted to be. Some rest was nice, his body aching and in dire need of some downtime to catch up with itself. If he could, hell he'd sleep all day and night until he felt himself fully energized once more.

He thought of everything all at once- of the intense hunger pains and cravings, along with the sudden fulfillment and taste in his mouth. Then of the little stunt he pulled in Blake's car, along with said consequences. He thought of the comments Blake made about his family, finding that disdain of the older man once again rear his ugly head. God help his family, the loathsome cop would be at his funeral tomorrow morning, and he was positive it wasn't going to end so well for any of them. They came from two completely different walks of life; it'd be like mixing oil with water.

Memories came back that had long since receded. Of Ethan Mars and his son- he knew that he saved the father by intercepting the Origami Killer, whom was none other then Scott Shelby. That man was also _his _murderer, killing him by taking advantage of his good nature, saving Shelby from death as he pulled him up from a fall into the great beyond. Memories were still sketchy at that point, but from the bits and pieces, he formed a conveyor belt, Scott sending him flying into a massive thrasher-

Oh _God! _No, no, no, no he couldn't think of that…It was too incendiary to his well-being. His very soul felt crushed and mutilated at the thought of his physical body being pulverized and torn to shreds, punished for an act of kindness towards someone who deserved none of it. Maybe Blake was right? Showing compassion towards supposedly guilty men had only gotten him further into trouble, even helping Ethan in the interrogation room was a huge risk, one he was surprised worked out for once. It could have ended very, very badly for both of them.

Tears began to seep from his eyes as he trembled in the dark, gasping in hurt as he felt an overwhelming crash of depression sweep through him, making him feel dead inside, hollow and absolutely useless. Feeling much like the walking corpse he was. He took the opportunity to let it all out, weep into the pillow and scream bloody murder as all his frustrations and failures came to a head. Jayden had thoroughly convinced himself he was a loser, feeling his parent's words sting him even in the afterlife, making him feel like some disgusting waste of space that should have never breathed to begin with.

'_You were weak; you were always so fuck'n weak, Norman. You're dead because you had t'a be a nice guy, had t'a play the hero…Worked real fuck'n great, didn't it?'_

Time sailed by, and at long last he'd fallen asleep as he body racked and writhed on the fake bed. He awoke after a surprisingly odd dream, involving Blake unable to fix a toaster…He didn't want to dwell on that, it was weird- and that was all he wanted to make out of it. Why Blake even had to fix a toaster of all things, he didn't know but- whatever.

After lifting his head from the pillow, he'd realized he had slept in his own tears and snot. Touching his nose, he made a disgusted look as he felt said nasal discharge still sticking there. The slight trauma that happened to his nose earlier wasn't that bad; it was moved but not entirely broken. It was tender, but not so bad he couldn't get over it in due time. He got up and searched the odd house, finding a roll of paper towels in the kitchen that was still trying to figure out what it was. The cloth towels hanging nearby looked like his mother's, which was comforting at least.

The sensation of having a belly full of food and satisfaction that came with it had gone- but at least he wasn't hungry anymore. Rubbing his stomach almost like a proud mother, he sighed and laid his head back; making sure his face was thoroughly cleaned and disposed of the towel in the trash. He'd decided to at least try and take a virtual shower; until he realized that stripping down only to be re-summoned by Carter would be the ultimate embarrassment. No, he'd have to wait until tonight. God knows he didn't want to.

He sat on the odd couch, noticing it was half of the old Vineyard sofa, a lovely ornate thing that looked comfy but about ready to fall apart- and Carter's leather couch. Besides the fine aroma of leather, it reeked of beer and traces of the older man's unique scent. It was all so surreal; and it made the younger man's head reel with its implications. Biting his lip slightly, he took a long inhale as he stretched across the odd fabric, feeling both at the same time. His old vacation home's fabric on his legs, and the soft, fragment leather under his head. Reminded of that sick fuck, he made a disconcerting face as he sat back up, and reversed positions.

Then he felt the lovely sensation of that fine twill brushing his cheeks, and he made a noise of content as he relaxed, finally, he could get some _real_ sleep. It was a rare event when he was alive, let alone dead. Odd, he supposed the old adage "I'll sleep when I'm dead." wasn't entirely true.

Eventually, he did cat-nap again for a good few hours. When he did get up, a groan escaped his soft, pink lips as he stood up on his hands and knees, feeling them sink into the cushion and wavering to keep his balance. His eyes opened halfway, vision blurring in and out, as he did his best to focus on the situation at hand. A tamer night terror had struck him, so tame it allowed him to get some sleep, yet allowed him to get up on his own power.

'_St'ill here, I see…'_

Swinging his legs over the couch, the dead profiler cracked his back and stretched, mouth agape with a yawn. He swore he wouldn't be able to get enough sleep in this part of his existence. He needed a real bed in the real world. His mind swirled with various thoughts, one falling and leading to another. How Ethan and Shaun Mars, and even Madison Paige were doing; if they were happy now, if Carter ever let them go and stopped pestering them for no good reason but to serve his ego. If the press were on their heels like a bad dog to the mailman.

Then came his current dilemma- if he was _actually _real and not in some sort of sadistic Hell. Maybe he really was dead, and this was the afterlife? If so, he'd have to say it must have been purgatory. Giving Blake a blowjob may have seemed like Hell back when they first met- but seeing as he was able to finger the older man to his obvious satisfaction, it could have just as easily been Heaven. Why? Seeing the tyrant of a human being submit to him so easily was unbelievably satisfying. So… Perhaps he was simply in limbo?

Norman's false heart thumped about inside his supposedly fake chest. What if the only reason he was still doing this, was because he was simply willing himself to still be alive? If he stopped thinking about it, stopped putting himself in this little fantasy-world, he'd just as easily fade away? Pressing his fingers to his chest, he found this to be untrue. Taking a deep breath, letting it out…No, he was still very much there. Still alive. Or was he? Fuck!

Getting up in a huff, the Bostonian native strolled about the house, until he got curious and decided he should try and leave. Where would it take him? Could he even go that far? How have things changed outside this area in particular?

Peeking out the wide windows (they still belonged to the Vineyard house), he squinted as he noticed the still-stormy skies. At least it didn't look to be raining at the moment. The landscape was indeed different, the cliff gone completely and replaced by a large swath of woods. They were dense, a small dirt road out front that seemed to lead in from the thick, almost oppressive jungle and out to the right alongside the tree line until it once again became enveloped in the dark forest.

'_That's…Interest'in.' _Norman knew this couldn't be his creation; he'd never lived in a forest. Not once, no, this had to be Carter's design.

But why? Had this been a previous home of Carter's? Much like Martha's Vineyard had been his? It was as good a theory as any; and as he looked out the window, he had a sneaking fear crawl up his spine that was closer to deja-vu and a creeping sort of chaos rather then a marvel at the beauty of his surroundings.

Still, Jayden had an even stronger degree of curiosity about him then Blake. Not to mention that childhood touch of wonder that never did leave. Taking one last look out the door's window, he hesitantly opened it and walked outside, closing the door steadily behind him. It closed harshly, the weather stripping along the doorway almost being caught in the way. Outside, he walked a few steps then looked back to see that the house from the exterior also resembled a cross between his childhood home, and another, low-income single-floor house. One he was positive was Blake's. Brick made an archway above the porch, a large attic replacing what had been a whole second floor.

He shook as he rubbed his exposed arms with his hands; feeling the last remaining biceps he'd had since he used to actually work out at the FBI's very pricey gym. Ever since his Triptocaine withdrawals got worse, he hadn't had the desire to work too hard with keeping his body in top-shape. After all, he was poisoning it by the day….What did it matter anymore?

Taking a jog about the house, he began to analyze this particular situation that had so generously presented itself in this suddenly bored state- there was nothing of interest next to the house, so he decided to be adventurous, scratching his incoming stubble as he began to do a fast walk down the dirt road. It was then where he felt a very strange presence, one he'd never encountered before in ARI. A chill ran up his spine at the recognition, until he heard a light jingle that could only be recognized as one thing.

Turning around, he skipped in his step to make sure he wouldn't trip. Almost stumbling completely, with a squint and a sniffle he looked towards the other side of the road. A four-legged, black animal ran there. It was big, and after a few minutes of his heart hammering from the surprise, he realized it was far less dangerous then he initially assumed.

'_Is that a…dog?'_

Shit, the surprises around this place never ceased. Within a few minutes, the dog running towards him moved closer with long, sloping strides. It appeared to be a Rottweiler, and upon realization of this Norman tensed. When he was younger, he had been bit in the elbow by the same breed of dog, and although he still wasn't terrified of the animals, not ever having one of his own made him leery of their nature. Around its neck was a red collar with tags, jingling there happily as the dog got about twenty feet away, then slowed.

Immediately, he noticed apprehension from the beast. Muscles locked, hackles rising as he stalked forward, growl originating in his throat and spreading throughout his form. The young agent would be lying if he said he wasn't a bit worried, after all this wasn't exactly some happy pooch bounding up to him to deliver a slobbery kiss. Yet something told him that this wasn't as bad as it looked, waves of almost-calm flooded over him as the dog got closer, eyes steely and whale-eyed as he could see the whites on the dog's fat, wide and muscular face. His tan legs carried him forward, stubby tail wagging slightly as he approached-

"Hey there…Good boy-"

Movement, a flinch…But nothing. No bite, no leap to his throat- the dog had sunk into a play-stance, front legs dipping as his elbows touched the ground, butt high in the air, wagging his ass so hard that his whole body practically wiggled. A pink tongue, contrasting well against the jet-black of his fur, lolled out as he huffed-and-puffed from excitement, even choking on his own saliva as he gyrated and jumped about the young profiler.

A small smile tugged at Norman's lips, now seeing this apparently happy dog before him ready to play. It made him feel engulfed with warmth inside; a feeling of pleasantry that had eluded him for a long time. As Norman bent over, the dog hungrily sniffed at his open palm greedily, leaving some stickiness there from his drool. Then came the licking, covering his hand as he tried to pull it away, and wiped it on his pants as his face contorted with a slight disgust.

After a small laugh, Norman sank down into a kneel, easily accepted the beast, feeling his face licked as the dog put its weight into the man's outstretched arms, feeling all those years of resistance from his family to get a pet- then he was too busy to have one when he did get his own house- all fall asunder. The dog was warm and friendly; feeling protected and safe in the beast's muscular, stunted form as it practically sat in his lap. The younger man breathed in assurance as he hugged the dog, hearing him pant from the sheer level of exertion the excitement had caused him.

Then a tag jingled, almost to remind the brunette to read it. This dog belonged to somebody. Lowering his neck, he read the brass tag as he squinted in the dark light. He had been lucky the dog decided to settle down at just this moment.

"REX"

William C. Blake

215-297-5551

78 McNeil Rd

Point Pleasant, PA

'_Whoa…who the hell is that? One of Blake's brothers? No, wait…Larry and… there's another, I never did hear his name. Who's this?'_

Point Pleasant? Was that where he was right now? The dog _could _have very well traveled from wherever- no, he had to remember. This place wasn't real. Whatever this dog was supposed to be, where he was Jayden supposed didn't matter. It was a setting, not a location per say. Searching the rest of the collar, he found a rabies tag and a Bucks County dog license- all getting him nowhere.

'_If I had a cell phone I could c'hall that number and get in touch. Maybe find out someth'n?"_

An excited bark and the dog jumped in extreme excitement as he yelped then spun around. Norman smirked at the amusing display, the intensely large brute of a dog moving so fast. To think he had actually been afraid of him a few minutes ago. It was then when he saw the Rottweiler move away, running down the dirt road to the right.

'_Now where's __**he**__ goin'?' _

Norman took off in a jog, following the large black monster of a dog as he sped down the dirt road. After a few long strides, Rex spun about and yelped again, his bark high and almost strained.

"What's wrong? Someth'n up, boy?"

He felt like fucking Timmy chasing Lassie, ready to see if he'd uncover some trouble 'down at the old mill.' However, he felt there was an actual urgency, an almost frightening sensation deep down in this situation, a chill running up his back at the realization. It didn't help that it felt to be a good fifty or so degrees outside. Norman Jayden never was good with the cold.

Moving faster, Jayden felt that old runner's joy flow back into him as he once again picked up the pace. A surge of adrenaline flowing back through him as he took a swift gait and lengthened his stride. Those arms of his, with their slight bulges from the occasional workout session, swung fluidly as an almost-smile crossed his face. It felt like hell at the market in the heart of Philadelphia; his lungs were burning and head swam with withdrawals. Now? It felt almost relieving, his body singing as his he felt more alive then he did in years. To think, the last time he checked…He was dead!

The dog took off across the road, and he followed over a crest that didn't reveal what was on the other side. Norman ran over it without concern, and barely caught Rex surging to the right behind a stand of trees. Without thought, he followed, a single, cheap aluminum mailbox indicating there would be _something _beyond. There was an old gravely road, and the scent of old wood and earth filled his nostrils as he slowed to a stop in front of a large, old farmhouse.

It rose from the ground with the utmost quaintness- had Norm drove past it; he would have guessed the normal American family lived there. A white-picket fence didn't surround it, but everything else was intact to complete the illusion. The house itself was a dull yellowish- beige, easily two stories and huge on all sides. It had to be ancient, it's old deck curling around the front and right side as the new paint job and power lines strung to its sides betrayed its modernized state. The pillars that held the deck away from the house were ornately carved, the top and bottom floors decorated by a combination of large, bay windows that appeared new, and small ones that looked as old as the house itself.

Large, pleasant sunflowers reared up in front. They drooped a little considering it was late fall, their large heads too heavy for even their own thick stems. Below them and around the sides were various flowers of all sorts, the colors dizzying and insanely sporadic. Even now as they were dulled by the season, he felt as though the place had to be gorgeous in the summer, and felt a pang of sadness he had arrived too late. Window chimes sung on the front porch, clambering wildly as a breeze blew right through. Old, dead and dry leaves followed said wind, floating about his feet as he felt his hair tumble about on his head. The yard itself appeared tended to, at least to a reasonable extent. The grass wasn't too high, though it was easily a week since the last run-through with a lawnmower.

Norman watched as the dog flew up the steps, stopping at the large old door that must have been the front entrance. There lay a screen door before it, and he watched as the dog whined and scratched at the side with a massive tan paw. This must have been a habit of his, as now he noticed large scratch marks up and down all the way to the doorknob. It smacked against the frame, and the agent was positive somebody would come out to answer. When they didn't, he hurried along after staring dazed at the old-fashioned house from the bottom of the steps, walking cautiously up the old rickety stairs that creaked as he crested them.

'_Just what is this from, anyway? Did I fall asleep? Am I dreaming…? This can't be my dream. Not my dog, not my house…Where __**am**__ I?'_

He felt awkward to say the least. Again came that feeling of being watched, of being in the wrong place. Like he didn't belong, and should leave. He startled, hearing a noise and looking to his right. A wash of relief filled through his lithe frame at the realization that it was only a slightly charred American flag flapping in the breeze out front-

'_Charred?'_ Norman questioned, squinting, as he looked closer- no. Just a little ripped up, most likely from the wind.

Turning back around, he knocked on the outer frame of the old screen door, hearing it bang just as if the dog managed to accomplish. Speaking of which, the Rottie once again whined at his heels. It irked him, why was he here, of all places? Blake's house…Or rather, their oddly conjoined house, lay back there-

Then he saw it. Above the doorway, an old wooden sign that looked to have been made in some country store or craft show. Before, he hadn't seen it due to it sitting in the deep shadows underneath the short ceiling. It had been carven from a piece of finely-shaven, light wood and glazed so that it almost shone.

**BLAKE FAMILY**

'_Oh shit..._' Jayden realized the concept of _just_ where he was- the revelation crawling up his spine like an army of bugs under his clothes.

'_What year is it? How did this happen…?'_

Finally, with a burst of courage he wasn't sure he had, the young man found himself opening the screen door, bracing it against his backside as he turned the doorknob to the larger wooden door, hearing the slightly satisfying, partly mortifying (secretly, he hoped it would be locked so he could just turn around.) sound of the lock disengaging, allowing him to walk into the oddly warm, 60's to 70's style inside. One of those tacky 'ray-style' clocks hung on the wall of the large living room, being the first thing his eyes drew towards. By seeing said interior design, he almost instantly knew the time period- finding the couch, TV and rug to be very indicative of that time.

Everything was either square or boxy, the couch looking extremely uncomfortable and an almost vomit-inducing brown. The carpet was high-pile, and as he took a few cautious steps away from the squeaky door he felt his feet sink into the tan floor. That crazy ray-clock was loud, and its ticking was easily aggravating to his ears already. A fireplace loomed large and mighty in the center wall, its mantle looking to be hundreds of years old as it was lined in stone, and a painted picture of deer grazing crested the top. Speaking of which, several deer heads lined the roam, four of them, all mighty bucks with rather prestigious racks. Their black, glass eyes staring at him from their long dead holds somewhere in times past.

"Hall-o?"

His Bostonian accent seemed somehow ill fitting and out-of-place in this old house. A Liberal New Englander in some obviously Conservative, old-fashioned farmhouse in rural Pennsylvania. No doubt they'd vote for Regan when the time came, no question that the minute they saw the lack of ring on his finger despite his age, or somehow guessed his sexual orientation, he'd be shot.

However, as that strong yet questioning voice boomed in the home, there wasn't a soul that answered it. Nobody to question his life or its direction. How strongly God or the government had a hand in it, why he wasn't at church or in Vietnam, just silence. Norman took another few steps, frightened out of his mind that Blake's family could be here. Though he couldn't tell if he was in a dream, or some sort of misplaced reality. This just as easily could have been some house lost to time, never changing styles or simply that whatever remnant of Blake's family existed simply had a horrible taste in décor.

"Ah'ny one home?"

Silence. The only noise being a droning of a clock, and now the sound of Rex snorting as he disappeared into the kitchen, water audibly being slurped into his thirsty mouth. Norman squinted as he spied pictures on the mantle place, moving over with his soft but still shoed feet sinking softly into the high pile carpet. Around him the tacky light-brown and patterned hourglass-like wallpaper covered the walls, barely catching sight of an Atari 2600 sitting below the adequately-sized TV with its single joystick poking out from the floor, almost phallic. Norman grinned a little bit, he wondered if Carter was any good at Space Invaders…

Still to the right, on the mantle…a family photo- and Norman only just glanced when he heard a sound that made him leap from his skin. A scream filled the house, a woman's strangled cry that sounded like more of a call from agony then an asking for help, or pleading-

He had wanted to run, and turned around to do just that. To find the woman and help, wherever she was. He didn't put much thought into it, he just had to move, he couldn't stay where he was. She had to be in this house, somewhere…

Then nothing was there, he awoke from the couch, chest heaving as he looked about in a daze.

'_It was a dream! Godd'hamn! I'll end up a basket case sooner or later, I just know it!'_

Jayden just couldn't grasp it, none of it made _any _sense. None of the places in that dream rung any bells, and he sure as shit didn't think he was capable of even imagining such a place for no reason. The house had looked a combination of creepy, homely and beautiful from the outside, with the atrocious 70's era interior decorating that he didn't think was capable of looking any tackier. None of it seemed like something he would just think up.

He tried to convince himself that, perhaps, this was his idea of what Carter's childhood looked like. After all, the place had been empty. Had it been a real experience, an _ARI experience_, he would have at least seen some sort of physical manifestation of his family. But then, he wasn't positive as to the rules within this system. Indeed, they seemed to change by the day.

It wasn't until then that Norman realized he was sweating, and not the normal kind. The cold, clammy sort that came with his first stage of withdrawals. A shuddering sigh left his lips a she propped himself up on the couch, elbows sinking into the fabric as he did his best to control his breathing. There was no Tripto here; he had already tried conjuring it from thin air. For whatever reason, it never took solid form. Cold swept over him, and with that, the shakes began.

ARI and Triptocaine were both fine things that Norman found himself addicted to, yet in wholly different ways. They both had an effect on his body, with one offsetting the other. ARI rampaged through his brain as Tripto took his body. Both had side effects, both had withdrawals. The only difference was Tripto stopped both, but ARI did nothing to quell his addiction to the drug that could stop all the pain. It was a narcotic, an anesthetic, and a damn good one.

They had experimented with everything from Oxycodine, Morphine and even Marijuana, especially concentrated doses of THC at first due to it's ease of use. Though in the end, Oxycodine proved too dangerous. In cases of Morphine use, the subject was left too dazed and euphoric to carry out even the most simple of tasks, not to mention the horrible constipation that came with the side effects. THC was simply too casual and created plain-and-simple dope heads more then anything.

It was in ARI where the addiction actually lay; taking Triptocaine eliminated many of its side effects and withdrawals. However, it also created a new host of problems with Tripto's cocaine-similar problems. In the end, he found himself screwed one way or another. If he refused Tripto completely- something altogether not recommended, he'd find himself becoming trapped in the alternate reality and having a brain similar to the consistency of Swiss cheese. Not to mention have to go through ARI's rather debilitating withdrawals that included unbearable headaches, shaking, sweating and general agony. Problem was, Triptocaine may have relieved these symptoms, but because it kept Norman in reality, withdrawing from the substance also caused them to occur. They both reeked havoc, joining forces like some horrible double-team from Hell.

Oddly enough, he found himself not having these lately. Triptocaine was deadly and gave him effects that were euphoric and numbing; it felt wonderful. Though not using the drug led to effects that were just as bad- seeing as they both stimulated the same parts of the brain. It needed constant activity and cooling, much how a system could overheat when its fan was stripped away. Norman had known that if he ceased ARI he wouldn't have to worry about either of these…Yet his job demanded at this point that it be used, not to mention the sheer amazing abilities the device held. Would one throw out their computer? Their cell phone, blackberry? Of course not. Not even if it caused the sort of pain ARI did. Not even if it potentially caused death.

Funny, years ago he remembered hearing cell phones could cause tumors. Something largely thrown out by most doctors today. Would it matter, though? If such news broke again today, deep down inside the agent knew it wouldn't stop people the world over from plastering the device to their heads.

His nose started to run, and he sniffled as he looked down at his shaking hand. The snot meant this was more a Triptocaine symptom then an ARI one- not that it mattered. They were synonymous with one another. Tripto enhanced ARI and was responsible for making it even more immersive, and far more habit forming.

"Damn, gotta g'het a tissue…"

Getting up, he felt his vision blur as he stumbled towards the new location of the bathroom. Luckily, one of the few things that stayed behind was indeed a purple (purple? Jayden found that funny) box of tissues above the toilet. Grabbing a few, he leaned over the washbasin and barely was able to stop himself from hitting his head into the mirror. He breathed in relief, steadying himself as he stared into his own eyes, looking into those dazed and confused orbs of grayish blue.

Another tremor decided to rip through him at exactly that moment- and his luck had decided to run out. Arms buckling from under him, his weight pushed him forward and he felt the smooth pane of glass for the briefest of seconds, then searing agony as the glass broke and pinched together as it sliced his flesh open.

"Ahhhh-hh-_Shit_…!"

Stumbling backwards, the younger man ran his hand along his forehead without conscious concern. That's when he felt the glass pieces lodged in his skin, and as he brushed it he felt them partially swept away by his palm. The rest he felt either dig in further, or stay right where they were. Another tremor, and he felt his weight win out once again, powering him backward and into the bathtub. That part had been retained from the Martha's Vineyard house- and he found himself going back the whole way as he fell into it.

A jolt racked through his body as his feet vibrated, tick-tapping against the rim of the tub as his foot stood lodged on the top between the opening of the shower curtain. His head pulsed with extreme agony from both the withdrawal and the blunt force trauma. Tears rolled down his eyes and over his cheeks as he did his best to keep from screaming out loud from a combination of pain and shitty luck he'd fell victim to.

It was then when the young, deceased agent felt a familiar warm trickle in his pants. Soaking up his underwear and everything along with it. He was pissing himself.

Skewing his eyes as tight as he could go, he was at least grateful for three things…That it was urine and not the _other_bathroom problem he sometimes had with his withdrawals- and that he was in a tub. The third was that he was alone, not one Philadelphian cop in sight. His face turned bright red as the tears continued to fall down his hot cheeks, and he finally finished as he felt himself completely soaked.

'_Is this reall'ah me? This is what I am, now? Pissing yourself in some strange bathtub, try'n to kick a habit you can't even control? Maybe it would have been better if I just died back then…At least, died completely.'_

No…No, he couldn't be like this. It was stupid. He was better then this; he'd excelled in school and in life, even when he began using ARI along with Triptocaine to control it. Ever since he grew to rely on both, had to take Tripto to control the ARI, and ARI to do his job…Christ, then even Tripto to control the Tripto…A vicious Catch-22 that only went round and round. Only quitting his job could even remotely land him back in reality, and that was simply out of the question.

It wasn't until a good ten minutes later that Norman found himself recovering from the attack; able to get his pained, weak body out of the tub and take a shaky step up. He wondered what exactly he was 'allowed' to do in this world. Could he shower? God knows he needed it, especially now. He tried to turn on the water, but nothing appeared to happen as he moved the taps.

God, he could have cried. He stunk, was soak and wet, and even cold. All things that could be remedied by a nice, hot relaxing shower. Something so simple and taken for granted, but he would have easily done just about anything for it. Another blowjob for Blake? Do it in a heartbeat. Hell, he'd give the whole precinct one for a single shower at that exact moment in time.

As he sighed heavily, the deceased ex-agent got out and dried himself off the best he could with a nearby towel, then found some Gold Bond in the cupboard in the exact far right. It was covered with dust, and looked to haven't been touched in years.

He assumed this was a mixture of him and Blake's home supplies as well. He recognized his old vacation home's supplies, like the usual expensive lotions and products. Then there was the crude supplies that were obviously Blake's, like cheap anti-feminine "men only" antiperspirants and bathroom items. A tube of lube looked to have been squeezed out nearly to the end, the cheap kind that congealed together and was hard to wash off. It was a store brand from a local pharmacy, the cap just barely staying on.

'_Looks like someone 'was busy…'_

Norman squinted out of habit as he shut the doors, making a coy face, almost as though he wanted to ignore the fact that Carter Blake was even capable of having sexual relations with another person; after all, when he began the case he wanted to only know the man on a strictly professional level. It was his way, his little personal role to never get involved with anybody beyond work. He'd worked with police before on so many occasions, most either had wives or kept things far and away anti-personal.

Yet Blake had proven to be very personal, indeed. And he didn't just mean the recent events, he meant it in the way the man operated and carried himself, he was very character-driven and saw right through the agent from Washington. Didn't see him as a professional, a man sent from the U.S. Government and technically over-ranked him, despite his younger age. Jayden knew that being there was an attack to his character as it was. He had no choice but to become involved with Blake on a personal level. It was the only way to appear human to the bestial lieutenant from Hell.

Still, besides feeding off of Blake's pheromones and subliminal dominant, pseudo-sexual glances that implied power, anger and territorial-inspired hatred, he didn't think of him more then an irritating partner to have to deal with. An obstacle more then help, really. Couldn't picture the man from the waist down, especially not naked. Nor did he want to.

'_But you don't need to picture him, do 'ya? You've seen 'em up and down…He's got nice legs, you know.'_

A slow blink overcame his eyes, and he smacked his lips in thirst as he wished vainly for some kind of nourishment. Applying the Gold Bond, he felt and smelled better as a whole. It would have to do until Blake could take him to a decent shower, which he hoped would be sometime tonight.

"Thirsty, sir?"

It was Jayden's turn to be surprised, and he jerked several inches in the air as he spun around, luckily for him, he had been caught in his briefs. Now turned around, he found himself face to face with ARI's new integrated bartender. He wore a red suit, had a gentle face, and oddly dark brown eyes. What resonated with Jayden in the short period of time he met him, however, was that he was oddly wise. How he could look into the agent's cold, almost hollow soul and see what ailed him. What he said was more powerful in those last few parting seconds then just about anything his family had warned him about. His father telling him "not to do those drugs, they'll ruin your life." was far less powerful then the butler's warning not to over-indulge in "you-know-what."

The tray he held contained the sweet nectar that always helped him through the toughest stretches of his withdrawals and cravings. Good ol' fashioned alcohol. Days ago, when he had returned to his hotel lobby to lick his wounds after the hectic nature of the police precinct- he had retreated to the piano and found himself asking the kindly bartender for a vodka. To that day, he couldn't grasp how the brown-eyed man seemed to know about the ARI device or its ability to kill…He had figured that he knew who he was from the news report, which he seemed very up-to-date on indeed. Yet his advice resonated oddly enough to spread into his ARI hallucinations. Another thing about the device he contributed to the Triptocaine's growing influence.

"Sorry sir, did I frighten you?"

Norman was too tired and physically drained to even consider acting out against the fake man. As real as the deceased agent may have been in ARI, the barman was just as fake as the scenery. Real only in the sense that he could disappear at any moment, evaporate along with the rest of the world if Blake so chose it.

"Ah! Ah, no- I…yah' just…St'hartled me…"

"Oh, good…You appear very…_stressed _at the moment? Would you like something to help you relax?"

He seemed to be indicating the fine shot glass of vodka on the platter. Alcohol had never been a problem for Norman; he was able to keep it under control quite easily. He found beer lousy, but possible to drink if he had no choice. Straight, hard liquor and black coffee- it seemed to fit him quite well, considering his character and taste seemed just as bland at times.

Usually, he found himself only indulging in the substance after a hard day at work, or socially. Vodka was a favorite of his, though any whiskey, brandy, tequila and even the occasional wine was appreciated in his home. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't had wine in quite some time.

"Have any wine? Vintage…"

Stupid question. Of course they "had" it; they would anything he asked for. It would taste great, too. At this point he begged for _just _that taste. He wouldn't consider himself addicted to the fine drug known as alcohol, but that didn't mean he wouldn't crave it at times. Especially now, with the Triptocaine detox just barely leaving his system for now.

"What year, sir?"

For a moment the young agent considered, then spat out something childish yet dirty; why not?

"How 'bout '69?"

Yet the bartender didn't laugh or snigger, just nodded curtly and turned around as he strolled to the bar in order to get his order. The bar, by the way, seemed to suddenly appear in what had to be Blake's kitchen, the sudden change in atmosphere slightly unnerving to the agent. His countertop became an ornate bar, not dissimilar from the one in the hotel lobby his brain seemed to easily memorize. The wooden sides and top gleamed rather like glass.

'_Guess I'm not funny…' _The young man pouted, brown locks falling over his forehead as he scratched the back of his head, impatiently waiting for the man in red to bring him his beverages.

"Your wine, sir. Vintage, 1969. I believe you enjoy…Merlot? Am I correct?"

Jayden shrugged, yeah, the delusion was right. Red wine was his favorite, but really every wine had its own unique taste that he'd found to appreciate over the years. For the holidays his family rarely got together anymore thanks to conflicts and ever-increasing tensions amongst them, but when he did get to make a Thanksgiving, a Christmas, maybe even a Fourth of July picnic, wine of every type was served. It brought back pleasant memories, and with a slight nod, he reached for one of the tall wine glasses on the silver platter.

"I do believe that's the lieutenant's birth year, am I correct?"

A slight jolt, and Jayden dropped his glass before he could even taste it's blood-red contents. It smashed into several thin, and deadly sharp shards as it came apart rather easily. Putting his hands to his face, he briefly rubbed his eyes before releasing a withheld breath.

"Shit…sa'hry, godda'hm-" Norman rattled off, then immediately sunk to his knees. Blinking his eyes briefly, he only then noticed that the bartender was beating him to it.

"It's quite alright, sir. Accidents happen, I'll get it-"

"No! No…If…If I don't do it, it won't g'het done."

Noticing that the man in red had already picked up quite a few sharp pieces in a napkin, Jayden tried to take these from him, nestling them in his hand as he gently took them away.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

Standing up, the pale brunette gave a rather blank look to the fake barman, shrugging his shoulders a bit nonchalantly as he walked towards the trash in the left of the room, near the fridge. Depositing the shards inside, he began to search for a cabinet that contained a broom and dustpan to get the finer pieces that lay in crystallized dust on the floor.

"You're in ARI; I'm…Sorta in both worlds. I can inta'act with it. You can't."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Mr. Jayden-"

"That's okay. Ya' not even real."

Saying this as he lowered down to the cabinet under the sink, he found a dustpan with a small handle amongst some Draino and some cheap store-brand bleach. Briefly, he considered perhaps cleaning the whole floor for Blake, hoping that what he did in this world transpired to his home on the other side. It would be an act of kindness to make up for what he did in the car-

'_Yeah, then he strangled you, remember?'_

The bartender had been saying something, but he was filtering it out. Parting his soft pink lips a little, he sauntered over and dropped to his knees, doing his best to quickly sweep up the small glass particles as a headache throbbed in his brain.

"You said 1969 was Blake's birth year…" Jayden interrupted.

"How'd you know that?"

The bartender looked a bit surprised with this question, and took a moment to find his bearings.

"Why, because _you _know it- sir. I don't believe I have any knowledge you don't-"

"No, I didn't…I nevah looked it up, I nevah asked…"

There was a small, awkward moment of silence as Jayden blinked at the bartender, whom averted his eyes a little, then cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid I don't know, sir."

"How about- well, what else do you know? What's 'is birthday?"

"April, the 3rd, I believe?"

"I didn't know _that _eith'ah…" Norman announced. "What about birthplace?"

"Philadelphia, Roxborough Hospital…8:25 A.M…"

'_It's all match'en up…'_

Norman put his hand to his mouth and walked away, his face even paler then usual as a small chill spread through his system, the sensation of heat filling his face as tears came to his eyes.

"Parent's names?"

"William and Carla Blake, sir."

"Middle name?"

"William, after his father-"

He could have laughed; suddenly the barmen had become a 1-800-Blake telephone line. There was only one explanation for this.

"You're not in my brain anymore…" Jayden sighed. "You're in his…Holy shit; I was right, he's takin' control of this place."

The ex-FBI had hoped that he'd at least have the ability to control this world a bit longer. Could manipulate it in a way that suited his needs when Blake wasn't here. That explained, perhaps, why there wasn't any water. If Blake didn't need any…Well, there simply wouldn't _be _any. The barman's knowledge as well as the obvious past memory (confirmed by the name of his father) had confirmed this suspicion, it was still extremely unsettling.

It was like being in those movies or shows that used actors to play metaphors for parts of the human brain- pulling levers and looking out a huge screen as they pulled out files of the man's memories and knowledge, able to walk into rooms from the past to uncover more about the victim being manipulated.

It would have been undoubtedly embarrassing to the lieutenant if he had known what was going on here. No question, he would have been disapproving of Agent Norman Jayden, bureaucratic, spoilt child from Washington, stomping about his brain, looking into his memories and personal information. Christ, Jayden himself wouldn't want Blake doing it to him. God knows, he'd had his share of shameful facts and embarrassing moments. His first time with a girl, followed by his first time with a guy, was evidence enough of that, or even the awkward moment when he was caught masturbating by his mother.

"I do apologize sir-"

"It's not…No…" Jayden waved him away, his own stare looking off towards the front door as his mind struggled with things it would rather not.

"Pardon me, sir…Would you like more wine? There's plenty left."

The question did make the younger man look back, sleepy and tired eyes peering towards the wine bottle still on the platter, being held steady just to avoid any tippage or spilling of the second and third filled glasses that sat there. Licking his lips, he shrugged those pale shoulders and reached over, taking one and looking down at the red liquid as he swirled it about.

"Well, dad always did say it was a sin to waste 'gode wine…"

"It really brings out your eyes." The flamboyant man let out without any sort of hindrance.

"Oh really?" Blake sighed, pulling the edges of the suit forward as he looked at himself unabashedly in the three-paneled mirror, displaying his sides and front all at the same time.

"- I mean, bright blue and black looks great on you sweetheart, but this in the next best thing…"

Carter had to stop at the sarcastic laugh that almost issued forth, but instead gave the obviously gay shop attendant a curious look, partially in irritation, partially in almost- agreement. Blake was never a vain man, never one to think he "looked good", really. But fuck him if he didn't _love _a compliment. Damn right, he looked good. Fucking good.

The queer had dressed him in a dark navy blue suit- hooked him up with a new pack of blue, button- down work shirts, then made sure he had the perfect tie. A light blue, gray and white striped, silk thing that Blake knew was going to be pricey. He tested it, taking one end in his hand while he tightened the knot about his neck with the other.

"Sure it's not too glitzy for a funeral?" Listen to him! Since when did he care?

"Oh no, no…It's just right. 'You wear anything darker, you're gonna just blend in."

"But what if I _want _to blend in…? I'd rather nobody talked to me at all…"

Making a "tsk" noise in his throat, the younger man with a tape measurer around his neck walked away, and Blake sighed to himself as he leaned towards the mirror, furrowing his brow as he analyzed his appearance. Perry let him go a few hours early after he had been informed he never had time to get a suit- then he'd recommended a place to him that "did the best" and would get a discount if he told them he worked for the police department. What Perry had neglected to inform him was that it was run by a gay couple- good he supposed in the style factor…Not so much for his comfort zone. When the young, spike-haired blonde man had stooped to measure around his waist earlier that evening, it took everything in his power to not push him away.

Recent events had made him question himself, when he finished his massive feast- he'd gone back up to the office and sat down. He felt uncomfortable, shifting in his seat as he still felt the sensation of having something in there but moments earlier- something he didn't want to dwell on. When he arrived, Ash wasn't there, and it made him nervous to say the least. He didn't look at the man when he did return about fifteen minutes after that. Only later did they lock gazes, Ash betraying nothing as he calmly nodded at the officer and asked him if he was "okay", only to get a small nod back in response, followed by a nervous clearing of the throat. Almost as though Ash could read his mind, somehow guess by the way he was acting that a man had just fingered him in his own car.

"You should get new shoes while you're here, hon. your old ones…" The assistant wore a pale pink polo, opened up at the top few buttons with a white undershirt underneath it. He made a look of disgust, sticking out his tongue then laughing a little at Blake's un-amused reaction.

"Horrible! So worn out…Dreadful."

"…Right?" Blake asked, as if not quite understanding what the problem was with that, honestly.

"…I got these nice brown Louis Vuittons; you'll love 'em."

"Will I, now?"

"Oh yeah, promise you, hon. "

Blake cringed at the discomfort, watching as the twenty-something in pink disappeared around the mirrored corner. A sigh parted his lips as he sniffled and cleared his throat, leaning in closer as he checked his teeth. Luckily, he hadn't any chicken left over from his voracious appetite as he consumed the whole bucket and three-piece meal. It wasn't until afterwards when he'd checked the bottom of the bucket…He could have sworn he ordered more then what he actually ate. Counting the bones, he'd realized that, somehow…He had in fact eaten some of the bones. Sure, he remembered crunching some things, but…Oh God…Not like that. It was insane. He wondered how he managed to do with without choking to death.

Finally, he felt satisfied. However, it terrified Carter to think of the next time he'd be overcome with this terrible craving. He'd lasted the rest of the day, only making a trip to the water cooler every half-hour or so. When he did, he'd easily quench his thirst in two cups or so.

'_You __**should **__go to a doctor, you know…'_

Well, of course he _should. _He could have somehow contracted diabetes or some strange new disease. Whether ARI was involved or not shouldn't have mattered; this could kill him. If it was diabetes, he could slip into a diabetic coma. If it wasn't, God only knew what could happen. Maybe if he acted now, he could catch it in time.

That didn't mean he _would, _though. Blake hated the doctor, but was required to go thanks to his profession every single year. He did have a physical exam in a few weeks, so he'd bring up the fact that he was unusually hungry and thirsty. Only that, nothing compared to his _actual_ fevered need to feast.

Hearing footsteps approach him, he expected the usual sassy gay man coming in with his pair of shoes, when instead he saw a slouched, tired figure with a horrible completion and clammy skin.

"Hey, look at that…Traded one fag for another."

"Fuck you too, Blake."

Taking a seat in the corner, he gazed at the enigma of a human being; Norman was dressed in a set of grey sweatpants and one of Carter's shirts; it read KING'S LUBE SHOP in big black letters- he held back the insane amount of laughter, instead keeping it behind his lips as he grinned horribly at the young man.

"Of all the shirts you had to pick-"

"It 'was the only one left, you stupid prick! You need'd to do laundry, I tried but I the watah-"

"How'd you get my clothes, anyway?"

"I somehow ended up in your house…My suit started to stink so I found these. I cleaned half your house by the way…Almost did the laundry-"

"We didn't have size 10s, so I got a 9½, I hope that's-"

Right then, the attendant decided that was a great time to come back in, holding the pair of shoes by their backs in two fingers as he very visibly caught sight of Jayden sitting in the wooden chair in the corner of the room. Not only that, he had interrupted them right at the moment when Jayden so obviously declared he had just attempted to do his laundry.

"Oh hon, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there…Oh my God, I _love _your shoes…"

Jayden swallowed, his face turning a tinge of red at his ears and upper cheeks. He turned away, not sure what to say. This had been the first time anybody had seen him, let alone like this. Who the hell _wouldn't _think they were dating at this rate….Oh Christ, his shirt…

"Uh t-thanks…" He sputtered, then looked away, nervously moisturizing his lips with his tongue, then clearing his throat.

"I got a pair _just _like them for…Honey; it's 'Carter' right?" He asked, nonchalantly pointing from him to Blake standing at the mirrors, looking down and attempting his best to somehow teleport away from this situation.

"Yeah…"

"These would look great with his new suit, don't you agree? Here, hon, turn around…"

Saying this as he strode towards the lieutenant, the attendant seemed honestly euphoric that he had another gay man here to share his views, to ask opinions and get some honest-to-God confirmations! He had to admit he never would have guessed the older police lieutenant that strode into his shop not long after the dinner-hour swung that way. Usually he could tell within minutes, but his abilities ceased him this time.

Taking the man by his shoulders, he felt some resistance from his subject as he turned him around to face his apparent partner, a younger man (not uncommon in the gay community for a mature male to covet) with pale skin and a swath of stubble growing on his face which came close to almost being a full-fledged beard. One thing he noticed above all else was his shining grayish blue eyes, easily visible even under his heavy brows and eyelids.

Now the younger man sat up a little, a hint of a smile on his face as his lover (as far as he knew) was fully visible to him in the new outfit. Carter very audibly took a big, angered breath, just barely tolerant of his touch the entire time. It didn't seem to bother the stereotypical gay- He'd be thanked later when the outfit came together, he just knew it.

Norman did his best not to make a full-fledged grin as Carter averted his eyes, looking off to the side as he stood in front of him in the navy blue suit. My, he did look dashing. It flattered his shape and appeared to make him even thinner then he was, amplifying the upside-down triangle that was his chest and matching his dark blue eyes just about perfectly.

"N'aw that you mention it, it looks perfect…" Jayden quipped, sitting back as he crossed his arms and legs.

"I knew it! Okay, hon, now we just need you to sit down and try these on."

Now Jayden noticed Blake's face turning a steadily darker red, jaw clenched as he ripped the chair from the attendant's hands as it was handed to him. With a groan and some difficulty, he took a seat, then bent over to unlace his shoes, pulling the supposedly 'dreadful' black numbers from his foot, revealing black socks underneath. Taking a shoe from the man in pink, he gave an almost dirty look back, but wouldn't have shown it if he was angry himself- he seemed to be genuinely devoid of displaying any sort of displeasure with his customers- and instead watched as Blake slid the shoe over the foot effectively.

Doing up the laces, he tried his best to keep his head down and ignore the two bantering so casually behind him. Well, he supposed this answered the question about whether others could see the little twat- and made things just that much more fun for him in the meantime.

Unlacing and replacing the other foot with the brown Louis Vuittons, he stood to full attention and walked a few steps. They must have run small- as they seemed to fit just fine despite the loss of a little width. He had to admit they were nice shoes; the backs had a checkered pattern embossed into calf leather, the fronts were smooth, waxed and glared up at him with perfection. The laces were short and took up such a small area of the shoe; they may just as well not have existed.

"Uh! What I'd tell _you_? Goes perfect…It's so _you, _hon."

'_You call me 'hon' one more fuckn' time…' _The lieutenant ground his teeth, looking down at the expensive French shoes and rattling off just how gay they made him look, not to mention how much they must cost.

"Why not…" Yet it sounded less enthusiastic then one would expect, his breath leaving his body as he said it, eyes drowsy and just wanting to be _done_ and _leave _already. As far as he was concerned he had spent _wayyyy_ too much time as it was doing this shit.

"Okay sir! Do you want me to wrap them up or do you want to wear them out?"

"Boxed, please…"

Blake said this as he began to undo his buttons, then slid the jacket off as he cleared his throat again, sticky thanks to his once-more mounting thirst. To his surprise, Jayden jumped to attention and began helping Blake pull the coat off, doing his best to once more humiliate the man in blue by acting as if they were a couple. It was working, and the attendant smiled affectingly at the cute pair as he was handed the jacket, and walked over as he went to put the outfit in its box around the corner.

Given a moment of privacy, Blake turned to the younger man as he reached up to unlace his new tie.

"-The _fuck, _Jayden?" Came a small snarl, the man's dark eyes appearing like clouds looming on the horizon.

"I'm sah-?"

"-We're not-I don't want him to think-"

Back already, the man in pink came waltzing in, measuring tape removed from around his neck as he waited patiently. Without thinking, Blake began unbuttoning his pants and stopped halfway, realizing two gay men were watching him.

'_How did it ever come to this- ? Christ…I used to make fun of these kinds of fags in school and here I am…'_

Jayden watched as Blake hesitated when it came to pulling down his pants- then must have decided to go for broke, watching as he pulled them down and off, folding them slightly as he handed it to the gay man- averting eye contact as he glanced up then away, noticing that he had at least taken a look at his crotch, and was actually grateful when Jayden had the foresight to hand him his original slacks that had been neatly folded on the floor.

A thankful, yet still irritated look graced the lieutenant's face as he ripped the old pants from the pale kid's hands, to which the giver couldn't help but smirk a small smile in return. It was the second time that day that Jayden had seen him naked from the waist down- well, this time it was only _partially_, he supposed.

Hearing the belt buckle jingle together, Jayden decided to give the man some sort of privacy as he began to step back into his old clothes, catching a glimpse of him balancing on one leg and nearly falling over.

Instead, he followed the feminine attendant sheepishly- not for desire (he had defiantly _not _been his type) but more out of an awkward air, helping give Blake some sort of 'alone-time' in order to calm down. Any more and he just might explode like a neglected boiler.

"So…How'd you two meet?"

The question took Norman off guard as he followed him to the boxes in the hallway, and it was apparent he was trying to be a bit quieter. Carter very obviously was embarrassed at the situation, and it wasn't difficult for the attendant to decide and be more secretive about it.

"Hm?"

"Come on now…There's not much of a gay community around here, hon….How'd you score that?"

'_Shit, I'ma gett'n deeper in this lie an' I'm not like'n it…'_

"We uh- work'd togeth'ah. Until recently, that is."

'_Well, at least that wasn't a complete lie…'_

"Oh, I see- you know you'd be surprised how many cops like a man on the side, I used to date an older cop like that in high school. He was even married, can you believe it?"

"Yes, actually." A small frown made Norman's face look especially downtrodden, he knew all about _that _thanks to his parents. His childhood was most remembered by constant fighting and bickering thanks to the infidelity of both.

Smirking, the younger gay man rifled through the shoeboxes on the wall and pulled out the appropriate one, handing it to the young agent when he turned around. It was empty; of course, ready to hold the lieutenant's new brown footwear.

Norman honestly didn't know what he had meant by 'score that', since when did Blake even look like a sexual object to…Well, to _anybody? _He was so rough around the edges, so rigid, he honestly ever expected Blake to only score drunken one-night stands and the occasional hooker. Some girls had a thing for guys just like that, older, tougher men in uniform. Still, he wasn't expecting Blake to exactly be on the latest cover of "Playgirl" anytime soon.

"-hung like a horse." It wasn't until then when he noticed the other queer had been talking to him, and he suddenly felt very rude- and by the time he caught on to what he had been saying, he nearly scoffed. He must have caught sight of Blake's size through his briefs- something he still couldn't believe. He'd heard of men having 'short men syndrome'-even if Blake wasn't unusually vertically challenged- but had always assumed his behavior had much to do with dislike for himself. That usually included inadequacy- being small or having the inability to achieve an erection- yet that wasn't the case in this instance.

Blake was an interesting case study…While attempting to catch the Origami Killer; he had been more irritated, frustrated and perturbed by Blake's behavior to really give two shits about the main cause of his sudden boughts of aggression. Now? Well, now he had all the time in the world. The man that had been a royal pain in his ass had turned into his new obsession- something he didn't want to admit, but also couldn't help.

"I'm ah'fraid I didn't catch that?" An upturn was added to the end, making it seem more like a question then a statement.

The younger man seemed to blush, biting his top lip with his bottom as he tried to save himself from digging a bigger hole for himself.

"Well, he's just a big boy, is all…"

Norman did his best to look stressed but not wholly shamed. He nodded quickly; "mmm-hmmm" he flashed a fake smile as he then ran his hand through his soft chestnut-hued hair. It was greasy and no longer felt as soft and dry, the sweat from days of living without a shower accumulating, his hair's oils floating freely throughout the locks. It combined to make him look tired, drained, in dire need of a long, hot and steamy release in a shower stall.

"Oh- sorry hun! I didn't mean to embarrass you-"

"I just…We need to get going-"

He said this as they entered the dressing room again, Blake just getting finished replacing his dirty work clothes, sniffling a bit as he sat down and laced his old, apparently "dreadful" shoes.

"We have an uh…'eventful' day tomorrow."

Carter seemed to perk up at this, staring with a tired glance as he shifted to tying the knot in his necktie.

"He told me _all _about it, sweetheart." His feminine voice rang, making the masculine lieutenant cringe.

"Was he a coworker of yours, too?"

Standing up, Blake looked back towards the agent nervously as he watched Jayden scratch the back of his neck and looked away into some cobweb-encrusted corner. Surely, it was more agreeable to look at then the lieutenant's accusatory stare.

"I…suppose you could say that."

"They were _very _close, actually." Blake laughed, getting up and walking towards the mirror as he fetched his loosed wallet that had fallen from his pocket when he had originally undressed.

"…Like twins, you know? Like they were the same pers-"

"Cartah! He doesn't care- let's get going…"

Walking out the door behind the two of them, he felt his world shift just as his emotions ran high. He suddenly found himself once again in the bottom of the ocean, walking with high-cresting corals on either side that very much mirrored the walls of the dressing room corridor. Not in color, but in sheer dynamic. Nothing like this would exist in nature, not with these hallway-esuqe formations.

This caused him to sigh heavily in relief, though with a slight twinge of frustration. On one hand, he had wanted to escape that unbearably embarrassing situation. On the other, he knew he had regressed from reality and entered close to the exact opposite. He hoped he would make progress, especially since he seemed real enough to be seen by others. This thought abruptly came to an end as dolphins chattered happily above, craning his neck as he watched them make obvious silhouettes against the sun glaring down on the ocean's surface.

'_Actually, no…This is bettah.'_

Here was peace- an eternal, pristine environment that meant him no harm and tailored to his every need. Seeing as he'd met nothing but resistance in his normal life, he found ARI a delightful escape…Especially in _this _situation. And right now, Blake was the last person in the world he wanted to see, much less talk to or argue with.

A surge of nerves shot through him. It made him exhale deeply as he tried to calm himself; he had just started to dwell on tomorrow and all its disastrous applications. God, how could he even think this would work out? Not only would Blake have to infiltrate his home and the most intimate of his personal affairs- he would have to meet his family and deal with _them. _Two worlds he simply always thought would be separate were going to clash in a big way.

''_t'would have rathah been dead…This is gonna be a liv'n hell.'_

He continued to walk forward, grimacing as the three dolphins split, and one swam off towards the small clearing that he had just strode into. The coral walls ended rather abruptly, instead emerging into a more far more wide-encompassing space with swaths of seaweed flowing in spots in random areas.

The dolphin seemed happy- that permanent smile on his face amplified by the wonderful, freckle-like spots that dazzled all over its body, even on its stomach. He made low, loose circles above the dead bureaucrat as he rolled over and under, twisting about as he gave him a low, upside-down smile and made an admiring, adorable squeal as he floated closer. The agent couldn't help but crack a grin, reaching up as the spotted dolphin came within touching distance-

Something bumped him horribly; he went flying a good few feet as he caught himself, letting out a coughing gasp as he struggled to keep himself on his feet. It all happened so fast, he barely had the ability to even analyze the sounds and events. A surprised chortle, a rushing of muffled fins; Jayden swayed back as he watched a rather stout but powerful shark - a tightly compressed, grey, package of muscle known as a bull shark- fly after the dolphin in a heated chase. Ignoring him completely as it went off towards the previously delightful dolphin, now swimming for his life. It had knocked him back in the excitement, either not able to see him or simply going after a far more enjoyable meal, even if he would have been far easier to simply bite the agent's head off.

Before the shark could catch it's apparent dinner, reality flashed back, and he watched with the utmost curiosity as Blake looked transposed onto the vicious shark's body, watching him make his way towards the counter as the apparent gay dolphin was actually the young gay man this entire time, and instead of running for his life, he was simply moving unnaturally fast as he made his way behind the cash register. A small amount of tension hung in the air between those two- evidence enough, perhaps, for ARI to pick up on.

Jayden looked around as this transformation continued- the swaths of seaweed now clothing racks, the various color fish fish now items that sat motionless on the walls and shelves. Blake looked back and reacted in obvious surprise when he seemed to notice he had appeared out of thin air.

"There you are…" The words came out on a sigh.

Looking around in slight disbelief, the younger man licked his lip quickly then glanced back towards the tired Blake as he stood watching in confusion.

"Why…Is your shirt wet?"

Blake's brows furrowed as he took a step forward, noticing some droplets that had seeped into the agent's shirt, about three, in random and large wet spots that appeared to have no real indication of direction. Norman looked at him with similarly furrowed eyebrows, then snuck a peak down to where the lieutenant's eyes had been staring.

"Oh! Oh- I don't-"

"Hon, did you walk into the closet? Damn ceiling's been leaking like crazy." The pink-shirted man did the stereotypical limp-wrist flick, looking away the whole time as he added up Carter's outrageous bill on the cash register.

"Yyeah! Sorry I…I got lost-"

"Everyone thinks it's the bathroooom." He drew out, giving Norman a small glance as he continued simultously boxing and ringing up the order.

"It's just around the corner if you're interested-"

"He's fine." Carter interrupted, raising his hand back to Jayden to stop him from possibly speaking up.

"What's the damage?" He put right after. Ignoring the slushy sounds of Jayden's drenched pants, which he knew full well wasn't from any damn closet. Yet the man at the counter wasn't the wiser, and that was good enough for him right now.

"Well, let's see here…The suit was $800, the tie was $75, the shoes were $760-"

"Holy _fuck._" Carter let fly, he'd hadn't spent that much in one fell swoop in a long time. Certainly not on _clothing. _Christ, his last suit cost him a little under $200; it was from one of those Men's Warehouse stores. The first time Ash was married, he had been invited and had to wear a tuxedo for the only time in his life, and that one he rented. That was a good eighteen years ago…The second time there was no wedding, just eloping to a courthouse- which he was grateful for.

Behind the counter, the gay man gave a tilted smile and a slight red came to his face. He didn't appear angry, yet perhaps just slightly embarrassed for the poor younger man he was with.

"Okay, that's right… wait! Your discount…Here, let's see what I can do…"

A few more finger taps along the keyboard, a clicking of a mouse, Jayden looked away in slight shame at Blake's behavior. He suddenly felt like a henpecked wife, and it pissed him off more then anything. Not so much this moment in particular, but how it made him feel. Embarrassed by association, Christ…They might as _well _had been fucking. Norman promised to himself, after this, it wasn't going to happen again.

"How's $1300 altogether, sound?"

Blake visibly cringed, but ended up reaching back for his wallet with a soft grumble. His stance was tense and visibly taut, under a high tension that could snap at any minute, practically visible in his whole frame from head to toe. A defeated glare came across his eyes as he lifted a high-yield Visa credit card from his wallet, his name in upraised letters on the flat piece of plastic. A picture of a green landscape with rolling hills taking up its front.

"Good 'as it's gonna get, I guess."

In the back of his mind, Blake told himself soon he'd be re-reimbursed by the agent himself. If he hadn't been, chances are he would have stridden right out of the place at that moment, cursing all the way. Actually, the minute he saw how upscale the place was, he would have walked right out at that point. No, he decided to play nice. Why not look good in front of those high-class assholes? They wouldn't have room to talk; the sight of designer clothing would send them into a tizzy from an apparently moderately-earning Philadelphian police lieutenant.

Without words, Blake watched as his card was (gently) taken away, then swiped through the card reader on the cashier's side. A heavy few wordless minutes, then he was presented with a slip and a pen. Norman peered closer as he spied the man taking said pen and using it to sign his name, noticing his signature was a hell of a lot neater then the agent's own. One could read his simple name with ease, even if the C and B were extravagant. Norman was always made fun of for the complete inability to read his signature- often joking that he should have been a doctor instead.

"Here you go, sweetheart." Blake visibly cringed again, an insult at the tip of his tongue as the stereotypical gay man's voice crawled under his skin.

"Come again, mm'kay?"

After a curt, dismissive nod, Carter took the large white bag with stringy handles, containing several boxes of his large purchase. It crumbled noisily as it was handed to him, and if he was a woman or even partially feminine- he may have felt a twinge of excitement from a sort of shopping high finally resolved. Instead, he only felt irritation at having to carry a package so 'fancy' and expensive. It may have been all worth it if the supposedly sharp look got him to nail Norm's mom- that would have been extremely satisfying to his ego. Though, deep down inside, he knew that plan was flimsy at best.

Norman found himself shamefully following the shorter man out the door like some beaten whore to their pimp. He heard the door jingle and breathed in the biting, cold air as he noticed a few snow flurries fall lazily towards the dirty street, melting as they hit the pavement and asphalt. _'Fuck, that's early…' _He mused, stuffing his hands into the loose pockets as he breathed out, seeing his breath and huddling into himself to keep warm.

"So?"

"So…?" Norman repeated, curious as to what the older man meant as they walked down the sidewalk.

"So- What _really _happened back there? You're soakin' wet."

Carter stopped at the road, breathing out hurriedly with his mouth partially open, rolls of mist appearing from his nostrils and bearded jaw as he strained to stare at the road to enable a safe passage. Norman watched as the older cop sniffled from the cold. Fuck was he _freezing. _He didn't really grasp how a dead man such as he could feel the cold, never mind become practically hypothermic. His now wet clothes made it far worse.

"It 'code be from the ocean." Norman issued out between chattering teeth, now putting his arms up as he crossed them in front of his chest.

"Well, of course!" Blake laughed out, rather condescending. Finally, he saw a break in the traffic and jaunted rather casually across the road as his white bag crinkled as he stepped.

"The ocean! How obvious…"

Norman pushed his lips together and tried his best to keep his teeth from chattering- it wasn't easy to say the least. The car was right across from where they stood, and he watched as the public servant took his keys from his pocket, jingling them as he found the small black box attached to them that would unlock the beast.

"I mean, AR-EEE…I went back, again."

"Now why'd you go and do that? Now you're soakin' wet 'an gonna sit in my car-"

Unlocking the door, Blake sat in as Jayden heard him catch off in mid-sentence as he sat down inside. He watched as his mouth continued to go off as he ranted to nobody in particular. Jayden made a face of disapproval, the most unattractive look he was capable of making- his eyes squinting horribly shut and his frown deep, then grumbled in his chest as he gratefully opened the door to sit inside the icebox of a Taurus.

"It wasn't my inten'shun to be in the ocean, Cartah." His accent slurred as he shifted in the cold leather seat.

"I faded sorta…in and out. You know how it is-"

"Yeah, I know full-fuckn' _well _how it is…" The older man hissed, putting the car into reverse as he put his arm around the back of Norman's seat, turning partially around as he maneuvered the car backwards onto the street.

"What I wanna know is, how'd that make you soakin' wet?"

Norman drew a blank stare, shivering as he watched his former partner switch on the heat to full blast. He parted his mouth a little and shrugged his shoulders as visibly as he could to indicate that he was just as clueless.

"You and I are gonna have a talk, _Norman."_

The car started to heat up, and the young ex-agent swallowed as he nodded just barely enough to be seen.

"About what?"

"About…This!" Blake rose both his hands up into the air, temporarily taking his grip off the steering wheel.

"What's going on? You know what I did after you left my ass for your little _bitch_fit? I almost killed a man at a KFC- then I ate a whole bucket of chicken- I think I almost choked to death on a few bones go'in down! Now I'm not sayin' you _know_what's goin' on, but for fuck's sake take a wild fuck'n guess because I'd _like _some answers!" He watched Blake's head bob as he accentuated some of his words, his grip retreating to the steering wheel as it gripped it tightly. Under the gloves, Norman guessed his knuckles to be white.

A small silence pervaded the car as Norman stared ahead awkwardly, a heavy air filling the small space as a complete standstill fell over both of them. Looking out the window, he ground his teeth as he noticed they were getting onto a highway, and he could glimpse the city's massive skyline against a rather pleasant sunset. It filled him with a momentary peace, even if the man beside him was ready to lose it if he didn't provide something.

"Nice sunset…" He passed out between his soft lips.

Blake raised a brow and cast a quick glance, temper on edge as it was.

"So?"

Norman could have laughed- was this man even capable of showing _any_ hint of humanity?

"I was hungry too, Blake…Until you ate all that chicken. I tasted it- felt it, God I'm digeste'n in right n'aow. It's me, okay? It _must _be me. I'm caus'n you to go crazy with hungah and thrist- but there's noth'n I can do about it, _alright?"_

The cop to his left bit his tongue, rolling his head to the side as he stared forward with a self- contained anger. He would have loved nothing more then to lose it on the young ex-agent, to stop the car right there on the busy highway, take him out and let the cars run him over. Hell, he'd just come back to life again, right? That might actually be pretty damn fun, now that he really thought about it.

"This is all because of _you, _if you never showed up-"

"Cartah, I nevah told you to put the damn _glasses on."_ He stressed, trying to keep his voice down even if he was grating his teeth in the process. "Here I thought you'd be able to handle it- guess I was wrong. You know, with all you're _countless _years of experience, I thought you'd seen it all! I guess you found somethin' that knocked you off that high horse-"

"Oh, _fuck _you!" Blake spat, his anger amplifying as he blew right through a stop light, a car honking noisily as it was cut off.

"_I'm _on a high horse? The minute ya' came into town you were acting like some hot-shot, government asshole who's shit didn't stink; the minute I saw you I _knew _you'd be a pain in my ass! I had you pegged from the beginning you son of a bitch-"

"-Just like I remembered thinkin' how _incomp' andant _a cop you'd have to be in order to not solve that case in _two years? _Who solved that, by the way? Oh, that's right…A journalist, Ethan Ma'hrs- and _me-"_

"You know what?" His tone was more mocking then angry. "I think you should go back to that store, I think that fudge- packer had a real eye on you. Get him to take you to D.C, I'm sure he'd love to, after he got done fuck'n you up the ass-"

"Here we go! Nice- you're real mat'chah, Blake. You know that? You've got no room to talk, last I checked, you came up with our little '_deal'_!"

He said the last word with a heavily cursed tone, making sure the older lieutenant knew exactly what he had thought about their business transaction. There was a silence; Blake ran his rough thumb over his bottom lip. Immediately, the younger man knew he'd went into uncharted territory; God only knew what would happen next.

"Fuckn asshole…" He mused under his breath, getting off the main highway as he took an exit. Norman couldn't help but notice they had gone to a slightly more isolated part of town. Blake watched as Jayden put his head against the passenger window and sighed in a melancholy tone. Anger writhed within him, craving answers that he couldn't get, and here the little bastard was acting like a little annoying fuck about it.

"I'm s'ahry…"

Blake titled his head as he tried to understand the words that came out of Norman's mouth...Again.

"What?"

"I'm s'ahry- for being such a pain in the ass; for making you do all this…I'm a burden, and you're the last person that should have to take care of me. Gahd, I mean…I barely even know you-"

"Hey, listen-" Blake hadn't meant the tone to be comforting, but put his hand up in an instinct to control the conversation.

"Cut the bullshit. This is a _professional relationship_, remember?" Carter accentuated the words while glaring daggers towards the dead agent.

"That doesn't mean-"

"That means don't get too _emotional. _Alright? Listen to you…Sound like a fuck'n woman. That's the third damn thing you apologized for today. Grow a pair."

Norman snorted as he almost laughed, barely stifling the noise that made its way out. Shaking his head vigorously, he looked out the window as they turned down a few more streets. It took everything in his power to bite his tongue, and poked it between his incisors, then rolled it over to his canines as he nearly pierced the pink muscle.

Things were delicate now; Norman knew better then to start shit. A million curses and vulgarities were on his tongue, fueled by an upcoming Triptocaine withdrawal coupled with a raising irritation for the man he always clashed with. Carter simply _always _had to be right. There was no compromise- his way or the highway. As much as such behavior dug heavily under his skin, he needed to shut his mouth. It was the eve of his own burial, and at any minute the lieutenant could turn his back on their deal.

Anymore, he needed food and water among other things from the black-haired brute_. _The pleasure he had been sworn to give could easily be forced for the necessities alone that seemed to simply "come along" with the deal. Complimentary, like a hotel breakfast.

The car slowed, and the dead agent looked up to notice they were turning into Blake's driveway. For the first time he saw it from the front, the modest one-story's exterior was made of dark red bricks, with black shingles along its roof. It was surrounded by the wooden fence he'd seen before, and couldn't help but think it fit the older man in its gloomy atmosphere. The leafless, old trees' branches hovering menacingly over the top didn't add to the cozy impression. Instead it made Norman think of the sort of house young teenagers would dare each other to sneak into if it were abandoned.

"Home, sweet home…" Norman shook his head a little, exiting the car before the older man had a chance to deny the claim.


	13. Occupational Hazards

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, sex between two men, (In later chapters.) Masturbation. Drug use. Blood. You know, fun stuff.**

Author's Note: **Holy fucking-fuck. I took so long with this chapter, it was insane. I should be crucified. Do I have a reason for this inexcusable behavior? Well, Christmas for one, I work retail so I got hit hard. Then all the momentous effort put forth with the holidays in general. Then came both Red Dead Redemption and Fallout: New Vegas. BUT NOT TO FEAR, you can bet that sweet ass of yours that I'm gonna keep chugging right on along. Not because I HAVE to but because I WANT to. And yes, there is a difference. Hopefully, the next chapter will be shorter (I'll do my best) and can come out sooner. Damn you, sleep and work...**

**P.S. The first part of this chapter takes place after the second part. Sorry, I tried switching them around, but I felt it flowed better like this. I know, not very professional...It doesn't really matter, I guess. Please forgive any mistakes, there were several things I wrote and then removed, so if something feels out-of-wack please let me know, like continuity issues. Fuck, this was a long AN...**

* * *

**_"Now I have you with me, under my power,  
our love grows stronger now with every hour.  
Look into my eyes, you will see who I am,  
my name is Lucifer, please take my hand."_**

**_-_**_"N.I.B."Black Sabbath_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

Perry poured himself another bourbon, sighing heavily as he scratched the back of his neck. He barely missed the tie that hung unlaced from around the back of his shoulders, turning around as he took more a sip then a straight shot all at once. He glanced boredly at his current girlfriend, a red-haired, permed creature with moderately-sized tits and a sequin dress, arms and neck dazzling with jewelry. She hadn't even gone anywhere that entire day; this was her 'home' jewelry.

"Honey." She groaned, readjusting the Chinese Crested purebred in her lap as she rolled her eyes.

"Don't you have to be somewhere tomorrow?"

A sniffle, and uncaring glance her way later, he begrudgingly made his way over as he motioned into the air with his right hand- waving it in his careless attitude.

"Don't you have some _legs _you could be spreading?"

His condescending tone made her scoff; she practically threw the ugly dog off her, heedless of its yelp in surprise as she stood up.

"I _told _you I have my period."

"I don't mind if you don't…" His eyes were downcast, traveling over her closed legs. The balding police captain actually wasn't as sex-craven as he seemed; in fact he was practically bored with the concept. Yet it was the only thing she was good at- the pretty young thing never even lifted a finger when it came to anything resembling work either in or out of the house.

She grumbled deep in her throat, walking towards the roaring fireplace, pouring herself a drink as the sound of the liquid sloshing about filled the large, mostly-empty room. Taxpayer's money lined the place well, ornate pictures and fixtures making up the modest-sized estate. It was nothing compared to the mayor's mansion, Perry dreamed. Most of his money came from the mayor's generous outpouring of police dollars. Instead of being spent on new hires, it instead tended to go into his own pocket by one way or another.

"Who was it that _croaked_ anyway?" She asked, her voice on a slightly irritating edge.

Perry sat at the edge of the couch, listening to the fire crackle as he tried to clear his head.

"Some little…prick- he was a Fed. Put his nose where it had no business being…"

A faint smile came to the girl's face as she sat back down beside the man that paid her way. She sipped hungrily, more attention being brought to finishing the liquor and becoming inebriated instead of actual enjoyment, savoring the drink was not her style. The feeling it gave her was far more satisfying.

"So, why are you going?"

"-because if I _don't _I'll never hear the _fucking _end of it, _Angela_-"

"Oh, hush…" She leaned over, his earlobe being toyed at with her sharp fingertip, a Cheshire grin spreading over her face. Perry winced at the small shot of pain that her nails caused, giving her a nasty look.

"I thought _you_ were in charge?"

"I have my superiors, just like everyone else." He grumbled, taking a last sip of his drink in one swig as he stood up to full attention, sighing as he cracked his back.

"Gets me out of the office, I suppose. Free food- I get to see what the nosy son of a bitch's family looks like-"

"Oh? And flirt with the girls, huh? Is that why you're not taking me?"

It was a ridiculous concept, of course. Flirting at a funeral? Yeah, the perfect place for lusty thoughts, alright. Yet the girl's tone had been oddly serious. It ground at his nerves.

"I'm not taking you because you're a drunk." He shot, reaching over to his left as he took the remote and flicked on the widescreen the wall opposite them.

"-This is only my third drink-"

"In the last hour." He finished, switching the channels over to the local news.

Angela went to speak up again, but he shut it out for the most part. Something about not listening to her- he really didn't know, he wasn't paying attention- somehow that had to do with drinking like a fish. It was the same shit he'd heard all his life, excuses, excuses.

"_-Ethan Mars is currently still being held as a person if interest. Out-sources tell us he will most likely be released very soon. An exact date has not been given. We have also been informed little Shaun Mars is recovering from his hypothermia, and is expected to make a full recovery. Norman Jayden, the Federal Agent who was killed investigating the Origami Killer case, will be laid to rest tomorrow-"_

"Ah, I can't believe this _shit."_

Two seconds away from throwing the shot glass against the wooden floor, he hesitated and chewed on his lower lip in irritation, elbows on his knees as he hunched over.

"What?"

"-This whole time the press has been on my _ass _throughout this whole case, and when we finally solve it, all they care about is that damn little nosy bastard from Washington. Goddamn it! Not one word of recognition, not one "thank you" from anyone- Christ, do you know how many hours of overtime I had to pay the entire police force? Blake and Ash put in over twenty-five extra hours just last week alone- worked their _asses_ off- and for _what_?"

Perry got up in a huff, gesturing wildly as he stormed up and refilled his drink, slamming the empty glass down on the small counter. He was going to need a lot more to settle him down.

"I thought you said you'd just be glad when this whole thing was over?" The too-young-for-him thing droned in a grating tone.

"Except it's _not _over! If _we'd_ solved this thing I'd have it swept under the rug by now!" Lou did grand gesticulations as he made a sweeping motion with both hands, even the one clasping the bourbon.

"But no! It was that little shit from Washington that blew things _wide_ open. Didn't even tell Blake where he was going before he went out- then he got himself killed. Now _we_ have to deal with the aftermath! The FBI is _still _on my ass about negligence claims-"

"Shhhh!" Angela put a finger to her lips, a sudden fear creeping into her face as she tried to get an idea of the sound she somehow managed to pick up through her lover's rantings.

"Wha-"

"Don't you hear that? Someones here. I hear a car outside-"

"At this hour?"

Perry found himself exasperated and positively ready to explode, he put his empty glass on the fireplace mantle as he began to listen, and indeed heard the sound of a car approaching up the winding driveway. He was about to take off towards the front door when Angela sprung to her feet and took a few hurried steps in his direction.

"Wait! Wait…"

Turning around, the balding older man gave a blank stare back. He couldn't help but notice a sort of fear in her eyes, one that betrayed more behind them moreso then she could ever get out with words.

"What! _What?_What've you got to say to me?" He demanded, throwing his hands around in mock frustration.

"Spit it out- if you're running around behind _my _back, it'll be a hell of a lot easier to find out before that door opens-"

"No! It's not that…" She cupped her hands and meshed her fingertips together as she looked down, she wasn't afraid of Perry or his reaction as much as she was afraid of the situation itself. Simply avoiding the subject was far more comforting to her.

"All day today, I saw these black cars-" Angela said this as she watched Perry start to walk over to the nearby window in irritation, drawing back the curtains as he attempted to catch a glimpse outside. Not that it mattered much, there was nothing visible except an icy blackness, nothing illuminated due to the thick cloud cover obscuring the crescent moon.

"…Doing what?" He pursed out with a sigh, not at all sounding enthused.

"They were just sitting there outside the fence, I could see him sitting down there- then he'd leave, and another would come up and take its place- watching me when I went out to take Muffy to the bathroom. It was…creepy."

The police captain didn't for a minute really believe her. She was a drunk and usually had a breakfast consisting of a screwdriver followed by an early lunch of hard liquor of various kinds. If it wasn't for the fact that she ate like a cow at dinner, he'd wonder how she stayed alive. Obviously she saw something mundane and was blowing it far and away out of proportion; nothing new there.

"Probably just some journalists…Wouldn't get too bent out of shape over it if I were you..."

Practically brushing her off, her mouth worked as she tried to speak, but it just wasn't happening. There was no retort that she could think of. She was never taken seriously, for good reason, sure- but this time she couldn't help but feel a sort of worry nagging at her. Not the "it will be okay" concern that usually went unfounded, but a real fear she had a sneaking suspicion would become a reality.

She watched as Perry went to the door, licking her thin lips just a little as she again had a seat, resting her hand on the small, nearly hairless dog as it jumped back on her lap. In earnest, she observed as Lou looked through the peephole at the door, then stepping back with a sort of nervousness as he flattened his hair, pressed down his suit, and tossed his tie through the nearby empty doorframe and out of sight.

A knock, and Perry opened the door. At first all the older man could observe was a dark figure, watching him step into the light so he could see better. A flash of recognition flashed across the captain's face, and he extended his hand towards his guest to invite him in.

"Detective! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Ash nodded as he stepped in, eyes darting about the room in a sort of nervousness as he eyed the lovely young lady on the couch. They locked eyes, then she looked away as heart rate went up. She had to admit she felt very relieved, even if it did sort of make her look like an idiot, what with there being no strange person at the door who belonged to the hunting black cars of earlier.

"Sorry sir, I thought about calling but-"

"Oh no, no, no-" Perry shut the taller man up, watching as he seemed both flustered and nervous, like he didn't want to be there but for some odd reason, had no choice.

"-You're always welcome here, Ash. You know that…Blake on the other hand- well after last time-"

A small laugh between them broke the ice a little, which helped Ash in the transition as he turned around, taking off his large trench coat then hanging it on the coat rack as the small droplets of water cascaded down to drip on a large mat below.

"-You've met Angela, right?" He indicated, holding a new bourbon in one hand and gesturing to her with the other. The young lady nodded curtly, a bit nervous as her tiny dog growled and issued a few barks of warning. Ash's eyes lit up at the sight of the pretty young thing- oh, they've "met" alright, and just like last time there was a couch involved.

"Now how could I forget that pretty face?" He cooed, nodding to her as she eyed him favorably- a small smile gracing her lips as Perry turned around to pour the detective a drink.

Ash cleared his throat nervously as the captain turned back around, offering him the glass of bourbon and giving a small "thanks" as he grasped it. He hated this place, and truth be told he had little respect for Perry as it was. Though he knew the feeling wasn't mutual, he had kept a sort of underlining distaste for the captain well-hidden, indeed.

"So- have you-" Perry released a disgruntled sigh as he went to sit next to his mistress, who nervously took her growling dog to her lap and scooted over, a small blush on her face. The older man simply assumed it was from embarrassment.

"-Uncovered the perpetrator of my own little uh…case, Ash?"

The detective grinned as he took a seat next to the fire, a loveseat with ornate embroideries that cradled him comfortably. Yes, Perry's 'little' door ding was a mystery indeed. Because the car was next to Blake's, he was the first suspect. Yet when the lieutenant swore up and down he had no idea- _and _the dent didn't match up, the mystery deepened.

"Sorry sir, nothing yet. The cameras don't go that far-"

"Well, we'll be changing _that _then." Lou reclined next to his girl, throwing his arm around her as Ash watched her react in a sort of unbearable irritation.

Ash tried to look calm and collected like his normal self- but instead found his whole body beginning to do small jolts and shakes, doing his best to keep himself under control. What had happened today wasn't what he was used to, to say the _least. _Had thrown him far out of his comfort zone and through a loop as he still strained to recover. His fire-licked amber eyes shone like the flames burning red in the hearth; the glow caused by its mighty reach glimmering on their pooled surface. He swirled the drink around in its glass, not even thirsty enough to take away his edge in one feel swoop.

"So, detective, if you don't mind me asking…What is it that was so urgent that you had to come knocking at my door at ten at night…Not that I mind, as I said…" It was obvious that the police captain did indeed mind; yet didn't want to fully make it apparent. He'd rather know if something serious was happening then _not, _however. His ass was always on the line.

"I didn't want to call…" Ash began, body leaning forward as his elbows hit his knees.

"…I don't trust my phone." His eyes darted a bit, climbing over dark corners and hidden recesses of the captain's home. Gaze poking past the dark windows and their eternal blackness, looking for any clue of what had happened to him; what was happening to Blake-

"What'd you mean?" Perry prodded; just a little impatient at this point.

"What happened?"

"I think someones watching me…"

"What on Earth for?" Perry's eyes widened a few inches, while Angela's focused darkly on the detective as she instantly knew what the other man was talking about, and it frightened her to death as her eyes quickly became moist from the fearful concept of being right.

"That's why I'm here." He said lowly, his eyes traveling downwards to stare at the wooden floor as he sought to get it all out; something he'd been holding in from earlier that day.

"There's something I need to talk to you about…"

* * *

Opening the door, Blake quickly scanned the interior of his home as he flicked the switch, the light illuminating his moderately-sized kitchen.

"You said you cleaned?"

Jayden followed him inside, body shivering from head to toe before releasing a tiny sneeze. It sounded something rather to the effect of a little puppy-dog instead of a grown man. It made Blake squint and look at him funny, watching as the agent's eyes opened from their closed state, then shake his head from the apparent "massive sneeze" he had just released.

"…Uh, bless you…" Blake muttered, unsure if that was a sneeze or…well, something else.

"Thanks." A modest acknowledgment, and Jayden closed the door behind him out of courtesy, turning the lock on the door knob.

Blake walked over, his wet heels making squishy squeaks on the floor as he dropped the large bag on the table. It made him frustrated all over again, contorting his face as he turned back around and took off the wet shoes, kicking them over to the side, but still remaining on a large mat to soak up the water. At this, Jayden did the same, stooping down and unlacing them carefully. He gladly kicked them over to the opposite side, glad the lieutenant wasn't as anal in this regard.

Jayden didn't have his coat, so only watched with slight interest as Blake stripped off his own and deposited on the hooks nearby. They hung from the wall and beckoned for the agent's, but he had to admit he didn't even know where it would be in this reality. Shivering again, he noticed the house was almost as cold as the outside.

"What's the temp'arature, anyway?" The young man asked, rather curious. It seemed almost unnaturally chilly for this time of year. He kept forgetting he was in an extremely somber part of the state.

"…How should I know?" The older man said under his breath, his blue shirt almost bright in the dimly-lit kitchen as he strolled over to his sink, turning on the tabs and washing his hands vigorously. He didn't exactly feel clean being around Jayden anymore; what with seeing what he was capable of doing; especially with his fingers.

Taking the towel next to the sink, he dried them off in a hurry as he yawned wide. Norman thought it looked almost cute; like how one sees a vicious lion or hyena yawn at the zoo, everyone going "awwww" despite the fact said animal could rip you to shreds if it had the chance. He spied some silver fillings on his back teeth, but looked down and away to avoid making Blake think he was being stared at. They had enough awkward moments as it was.

Then came the inevitable; Jayden found himself unwillingly opening his own mouth wide as he also yawned, moaning a little as he felt himself stretch his back and raise his arms to the sky.

"Damn, it's catchy…"

Norman looked towards the empty Mr. Coffee machine on the lieutenant's countertop, spying the black thing with eyes growing to the size of saucers.

"W'hant me to make some java'h?"

"No, I want you to go take a shower- I don't need you stinking up my house."

God, the agent had nearly forgotten how badly he craved a shower earlier that day. He was surprised he didn't rush through the door, knock Carter down and fly into the shower to begin with.

"Right now?"

"Yes, right now. Get going."

Blake said this as he looked Jayden in the eye, noticing their bloodshot, red appearance. He ignored it for now, turning around as he walked in front of him and headed towards the couch. Hearing him walk away and towards the bathroom, he plopped down and made a noise of relief, sighing in content as his heart simultaneously sped up from all the stress in the day compiling in his thoughts.

Scratching his beard, he sighed heavily and let his body sink into the couch. Letting all that body mass just relax completely, muscles softening and bones crying in joy. Taking the remote off the coffee table in front of him, he flicked the TV on and watched it come to life as the six-o-clock news came on to greet him. He'd rather not wait to the one at ten, some games were on tonight.

"_-still being held as a person if interest. Out-sources tell us he will most likely be released very soon. An exact date has not been given. We have also been informed little Shaun Mars is recovering from his hypothermia, and is expected to make a full recovery. Norman Jayden, the Federal Agent who was killed investigating the Origami Killer case, will be laid to rest tomorrow in Washington D.C, reporters will be there to cover-"_

In irritation, Blake hastily changed the channel as he scowled to nobody in particular. However, the thing wasn't working all of a sudden, and in irritation launched back as he fired the remote off towards the television, hearing it crack against the entertainment center and fly off into parts unknown. He'd done it a million times before, and both the wooden TV unit and the remote showed signs of it.

Jayden had just undressed and had slid into the shower, turning on the water and moaning happily as the liquid heat cascaded all over his tired, weak and practically starved body. His hands came up to rake through his hair, pulling up the strands as he began to finally relax-

"_Crack!"_

Looking up, he blinked to get the water from his eyes as the steam hastily rose in the room. What was that? The first thought, oddly enough, was that Carter had either hurt himself, or someone had broken in- he didn't know why he cared, but the surge flew through him as the noise shook him, it was loud and violent, his heart began to pound.

"Blake?"

Silence.

"Blake! Are yah' okah?" _'What if he fell or someth'n? I'd be the only one-"_

"_What!"_

Irritation laced the yell, and for a moment the dead man breathed a sigh of relief.

"No-noth'n! Just…Mak'n sure y'ur okah!"

There came a cavalcade of cursing that Jayden preferred neither to hear nor answer, so he turned back to the shower as he turned the heat up. He shivered as the cold left his skin and bones, replaced by a flood of warmth. Turning around, he let the water rush down his back and shudder a sigh of content. He was in no hurry to leave, so he put off applying the soap that sat opposite of him- a dingy yellow bar with a few black hairs embedded in it. Norman's face scrunched up in disgust.

'_I guess I really don't need to use soap…Gawd, but you're gross, you stink…'_

An idea came to mind, and he shut the water off (with great regret) and stepped out of the shower. His lithe legs carried him over to a bathroom cabinet across from him, the same area he found the Gold Bond in earlier. This time he found a package of soap bars, smiling in victory as he reached forward and wrenched at the package as he acquired a new one. It was then when the door was knocked.

"Jayden?"

'_No, don't open the door- don't open the door-'_

"Everythin' alright? You better wash yourself inside an' out in there-"

Against his wishes, the door did open a little, and Jayden's heart caught in his throat as he stood behind the door.

"Yeah! I just- just had to get some soap!"

Except the door opened fluidly, and Jayden found himself sprinting into the shower right before it opened completely. Quite frankly, Blake found absolutely nothing wrong with what he was doing. They had the same thing; both pissed standing up, no surprises, here…Yet apparently Jayden didn't feel the same way, and hid behind the dappled, frosted glass of the stall.

"Jayden! For fuck's sake, why do you have to act like a little _bitch-"_

"Why do _you _have to be such an _asshole?_" He spat back, standing there in an awkward stance as he wished vainly for Carter to just _leave _already. At least he couldn't see anything from where he was.

"I'm tryin' to help you, you stupid shit! I wasn't expecting you to act like a fuck'n little girl about me seeing you naked. Christ…"

Norman dropped his head and frowned, doing his best to keep himself calm despite the unusual circumstances.

"Well- what was it?"

"I'm gonna do a load of laundry, where's your shit so I can wash it?"

"Uh…Th-thanks but, my suit's dra'h clean only-"

"That shirt you wore today- I need to wash it. Besides, I can at least get your underwear."

"I already threw 'em in there." He confessed. Yeah, no way in hell he wanted Blake to see his pissed-through briefs. He'd rather be killed again.

"…So you were wear'n my sweatpants commando this whole time?" Carter didn't sound exactly pleased at that.

The air in the room was laced with humidity as it was, but he could have sworn it just got heavier.

"…Yes?"

For a moment Blake didn't say anything, just made a gruff sigh in his throat, irritated but knowing there wasn't much to do about it at this point.

"…Keep them." He said after a dark, pregnant silence. "I don't have any more clothes for you. Just use my robe for now."

"…Okay…Thanks." Came a slightly confused response.

Hearing some slight cursing under his breath, he heard the door close. A thankful sigh of relief floated through him, and he again turned on the tabs as the water quickly reached a warm enough temperature to lavish himself in. The new, non-hairy soap bar dragged across his hide as a lather developed, rubbing the suds into his soft skin as he washed his nether regions, pulling slightly and yanking at the organs in an attempt to get them effectively clean and "whore-smelling" free.

Turning around, he reached for the shampoo. He held the plain-looking bottle up as he squinted at the name- some local store's generic brand. Norman had to admit he took his hair care seriously, not horribly so, but he took the time to choose a good shampoo and conditioner, fixing it every morning. Though he wasn't intense enough to check it throughout the day like a vain son-of-a-bitch.

This stuff…Eh, how much was it, he wondered? Probably a couple bucks- he knew Carter had to make a good living, what, he couldn't afford something decent? Popping the top on the white bottle and having a sniff- okay, not so bad. Actually, it smelled pretty nice. Not flowery or fruity, but just a pleasant, overall baby-powder-esque scent. Pouring a generous amount onto his palm, he replaced the bottle and began to work it into his scalp. It felt heavenly to begin feeling clean again, practically sensing the dirt and sweat rinsed from his worked body.

Leaning forward, he felt the searing hot water rinse through his hair, the suds running down over his subtle abs, dripping down his groin as it was rushed away into the drain. When he was thoroughly cleansed, he squinted through the irritation the soap provided, then reached for the conditioner where he repeated the process.

He didn't want to exit the shower; he'd live there if he could. Yet tomorrow was a big day, and in the back of his brain he told himself sleep would be that much closer. He wouldn't be able to crash in a real bed, but at least sleeping in this side of reality would yield far more comfortable results. Carter's couch wasn't actually so bad.

Stripping the towel from the hanger, he wrapped it about himself as he dried his chest, arms, rubbing it through his hair in an attempt to slick away the moisture. A grumble of satisfaction worked its way out of his throat as he felt himself renewed; clean and refreshed like a new man.

Now that he was naked and shimmering in the dull light, he looked over his body to spy his newly acquired bruises and scars. Several left deep, purple and blue marks over his chest, legs and upper arms. They had several days to mature after they were initially given. They looked tender and swollen, and feared touching them for fear of causing an immense amount of pain. He still had the deep, blue bruise on his right temple from Korda. Though at least it looked like it was going away.

There was a hesitation as Jayden reached for the older man's robe. It was like crossing a barrier that he knew there would be no turning back- draping something around him that was previously against the man's naked body the last time he saw it.

'_It's just a robe, noth'n else. Don't think too much about it…'_

Taking the dark blue thing down, he squeezed the fabric between his soft fingers as he threw it over his back. Jayden was the type to usually just stroll around half-naked until he got dressed, freezing half to death in the process. He was never a 'robe' person (if that was even a term) yet found himself synching the comfy article of clothing tight with its fabric belt, tying it loosely.

Blocking out and simply ignoring the fact that it was Blake's robe had done the trick, he felt thoroughly warm, toasty, and comfortable even. He opened the door and felt a sort of cool ambient air hit him as he walked out of the room, the steam making the space about him humid as he let the door hang open. Once outside the bathroom, he listened to the sound of a TV droning on, could swear he heard baseball-

Oh shit, that's right! The second game of the World Series! How could he forget? Not to mention…Blake's deal. He still owed him a backrub, no doubt Blake had completely forgotten about it, that son of a bitch. Well, not on _his _watch…

Blake let all the tension of his day wash away as he watched the beginning of the next World Series game. All the while, the ongoing thought that Norman was in the shower, using a large amount of his next water bill as he appeared to be in there for a good thirty minutes. When it turned off, he craned his neck as he peered over the top of the couch and looked towards the dead agent, finding the kid's wet hair plastered on the top of his head slightly diminutive as his pale skin contrasted highly with the dark blue of his robe.

"Damn, you're _pale_…" Blake commented, moving himself around a little to see him better.

"Though not much less then when you were alive…" He mumbled then turned back around to sit back on the couch, leaving Norman there to attempt and find something to say back.

"'Bein' Irish descent…Not someth'n much I can help…" The cop heard from behind him in a fractured mumble.

"Yeah? Can't get a tan you Irish son-of-a-bitch?"

"Oh, and you cahn? What're you-"

"Mom was mostly Italian…Dad was English. Even had the family's coat-of-arms in the basement when we were growing up."

Jayden had to admit that was pretty cool, his father was always proud of his grandfather's immigration story, escaping the dreary, depressive nature of Ireland at that time. Though he may have talked it up and celebrated plenty of St. Patrick's days with pride, something as simple as keeping a family's coat of arms was beyond him.

"Dad was Irish-" He breathed out with a sigh as he strolled over towards the kitchen, speaking as he opened the fridge and took a look inside.

"…Mom was Norwegian."

"Shit- no wonder you're white as fuck-"

"No wonder you're a loud, obnoxious, hairy bastard-"

Jayden turned around as he held a carton of milk, which he suddenly had a craving for. He wasn't expecting to come face-to-face with the lieutenant already. His breath trailed over his features, the sickly, wet warmth oddly giving him the chills.

"Gonna call me a dago like they did in school?" He didn't say it with malice, but with a smirk and a jokey-tone to his voice. It still nearly made the other man gulp as they locked their blue eyes. Yet as always, Jayden held his ground, doing his best not to appear uncomfortable. Blake very obviously had a habit of getting in his face.

"Wasn't plann'n on it-" Norman swallowed, eyes darting back and forth as he backed into the still-open fridge. The cold air bit at his back.

Blake hastily pulled the carton of milk away from Jayden, giving him a coy look that spoke volumes- a mutual understanding that actually existed between them for once. It was quite the change of pace.

"Use a glass…" He spoke as he turned around, placing the carton on the countertop and reaching up to get two from a plain white cupboard above him.

"Oh that's right…I'm talk'n to mister hygiene ov'ah here…"

A smirk crossed the older man's face as he poured both of their glasses full, leaving the carton empty, to which he turned around and casually tossed it into the trash with the resounding sound of it smacking the trash bag.

"What? You drink out of the carton? That's fuck'n disgusting, Jayden."

"Yah know, you're starting to sound like my mom-"

"No, to do that I'd have to moan like a whore."

A blush of anger later, Jayden clenched his teeth as he watched the older male take his glass of milk and nonchalantly walk back towards the couch, the commercials now playing. No doubt the game would be back on soon.

'_Oh? Like you did in the car today?' _The words were on his tongue, and he was so close to saying them. He once again reminded himself of the delicate situation he found himself in. _'Be…NICE.'_

"Nice one…Calli'n my mom a whore…classy."

"Well, she was one, wadn't she? You said her and your dad were divorced-"

"And…? What about that leads you to believe my mom's a whore-"

"Norman…You still liv'in in that fantasy world? I would have thought killing a man would have snapped you out of that…"

Carter didn't even look at the younger man as he strolled out of the room, sipping at the milk. He returned to his seat on the couch as his guest in the house stood there, wet hair still dripping as he huddled in the home's owner's robe.

"What are you talking about-"

"I'm _talking_;" and he used a very condescending tone, one that ruffled Jayden's feathers the wrong way, "About the way the world works. Daddy's sleeping around, then so was you're mom. If not before, then _after _the divorce. Don't give me that bullshit; I've seen enough to know how it works."

Jayden didn't want to admit that he had been right, that his mother had been cheating on his father at about the same time he was doing the same. Yet he'd never admit that to the older man, not easily, anyway. He shook his head in slight frustration, then walked around to sit on the couch to Blake's side.

"I think 'ya just insecure…" Norman rattled off, eyeing the man as he tried to watch the game. Something, oddly enough, the agent seemed far less interested in today then yesterday. He could only catch the older male's blue eyes from the side, they looked just as irritated as the day they shared a meeting about the Origami Killer on their first day.

"…about…relationships. That's why yah still single…"

Blake scowled, chewing on his bottom lip in irritation, not even taking his eyes off the TV as he answered what he had considered the smug bastard.

"Is that you're little pencil-pushing psychobabble _bullshit_? Or is that just you're asshole opinion?"

The dead man looked into the empty space on the mahogany coffee table, mind aflutter with what to say next, he had talked his way into a conversation he was pretty sure he shouldn't have started. Who was he to talk?

"…Is that why you were single when you died? Eh? Come on, asshole! You got something to say?"

His partner was becoming belligerent again; time to douse the flames.

"No. Cartah, I've always been too busy…Couldn't even find time to jerk it if I could…"

That made Blake snort with laughter, placing his empty glass of milk on the coffee table.

"You had an office, right? With a door?"

"…Yeah."

"So…? When you felt like it, you never…?"

Blake put his hand to his crotch, as though he was gripping an invisible penis. He then made a jerking motion to indicate exactly what act he was talking about. This forced a smile from Jayden- why couldn't

he have been this much fun on the Origami Killer case? Why wasn't he- oh, that's right…Now he was sucking his dick.

"You couldn't get einteth'n less arous'n then that place. I just…Never had the urge, I guess."

"Ah, what a waste…" Blake shook his head, all the serious air draining from the room rather fast.

"When I get promoted, that's the first thing I'm gonna do…Fuck'n shut the door and pound one out. I bet that's what Perry does the minute he walks in n' shuts the door…"

Norman laughed a little, a smile spreading across his face along with an accompanying blush. He was beginning to warm up now, both literally and figuratively. The robe was insanely toasty and felt good against his equally soft skin, and the hard-ass man's attitude was beginning to falter, revealing his fun side.

He watched as Blake turned the channel, revealing a football game between the Washington Redskins and the Philidelphia Eagles.

"Fuck'n look at that score…Jesus- gett'n their asses handed to 'em…"

"Is that why you're not watch'n it? You strike me more as a football man."

"Yeah, they started off strong earlier this month, then Vick got suspended and McCoy hurt…Now they're circli'n the bowl."

Looking over, Blake watched the younger man nod as he stared almost blankly at the football game playing out. His face looked to have filled with color, an almost renewed vigor. Then he questioned himself why he cared, or for that matter, why he was even looking…

He supposed it was because both teams for the baseball game had honest-to-God been playing like shit. One point on each side, and it's been like that for the first and second inning. Normally this would get him excited, the idea that either team could strike a point at any minute and have the game potentially in the bag. Yet they seemed insanely disorganized, constantly fucking up on either side and becoming more frustrating to watch then it was worth it.

"Whatcha rather watch there; FBI?"

Surprised at the sudden hospitality, he appeared to be taken a little by surprise, slowly working his mouth as he struggled to answer.

"Well, I…I don't know, I don't care much for football- but from what I've seen th'a games goin' bad."

"They're play'n pretty shit tonight, yeah. 'Iggles aren't doin much better, but at least they have a shot."

"Jus' switch between the two on commercials…" Norman pointed to the screen as just such a commercial came on, and Blake surprisingly complied as he switched it back towards the baseball game, indicating that nobody had scored even still. They watched both their teams struggle in relative silence, only irritated grumbles and slight curses between them when their team made horrible mistake after horrible mistake.

On cue as another commercial sailed on, Norman's stomach made a very audible growl, one which even Carter could hear, and even turned his head to take a look. His eyes traveled from the lithe man to the clock over in the kitchen, noticing it was a good hour after his normal dinner hour/

"I guess it is that time."

Groaning in exhaustion as he took his time getting up, Blake made a visibly difficult effort to stand up, then hobbled towards the kitchen as he attempted to walk properly. The ex-agent couldn't help but watch this display with a strange sort of curiosity, he'd never seen Blake that weak. He had to keep reminding himself the lieutenant from hell was an older man, indeed. Most likely, things were beginning to ache, mood souring, drives fading, mind losing it's edge, energy waning. Though he had to admit, for his age Blake may not have looked as young as he was, but he did act it. His abilities both in terms of virility and strength seemed very much as strong as ever.

He heard that older man make some noises in the kitchen, pots and pans clanging and dishes being shuffled about. Craning that velvety-smooth, lily-white neck, he spied Blake searching the cupboards for something that was fitting to his taste buds. Licking his lips, an urge fell upon him that was rather unusual, even for him.

"I can cook someth'n…"

Blake paused, the silence between them awkward as the statement hung in the air.

"What?" He poked his head back from the cupboard, previously obscured by its open door.

"…You know, I could uh…Make someth'n. I can cook a little…"

Jayden knew he had made a mistake when he said it the first time, but couldn't take it back, now. Inside, the young man knew he didn't have it in him not to help. Besides…He owed him, big time. The money being spent on him was racking up, as well as the trivial tasks Blake had to perform just to keep him comfortable.

Shrugging his shoulders as Blake stood back from the mess he was almost making, he looked towards the bureaucrat meekly and shrugged his shoulders.

"Fine by me…I don't have much to work with, here."

Standing up, Jayden almost felt a whimsy in his heart when given the green light. He only moderately enjoyed cooking, in fact he'd avoid it if he had to. Yet there was a certain independence he enjoyed having when he'd make his own meals. Though truth be told, he often made either incredibly bare-bones, or incredibly unhealthy dinner spreads. Celery with peanut butter one night (and yes, that was all he would make) to sloppy joes with cheese melted all over them. In fact, cheese was his very favorite food. If he could cover something with it, he would. He'd put it in his coffee it that wouldn't be incredibly gross in more then a couple ways.

"Got anah' cheese?"

Norman asked, walked towards the fridge and glancing in, the cool air wafting into his face and making him shiver. It was surprisingly stocked for a bachelor's fridge, beer only taking up one whole shelf. The rest contained actual food, like wrapped sandwiches, lunchmeat, a container of chicken salad and some large bowl with a lid, filled with some unknown substance.

"I should. In the bottom drawer…"

Pulling out the drawer that would normally hold vegetables, Norman was a bit disappointed that no such veggies or fruits existed, instead finding bags of candy (he seemed partial to Snickers) and some grated cheese in ready-bought bags. He'd rather have the blocks so he could grate it himself- but this would certainly do. He pulled out the cheddar variety and closed the drawer.

"Anah' steak? Chicken?"

"'Bought a slab of steak a week ago, it's in the freezer."

Blake said this in a rather inquisitive fashion, now extremely curious as to what the younger man was doing. He stood back as he watched him rifle through his fridge, and pulled the packaged carton of steak from his freezer, which he had been saving for a special occasion. He only told Jayden it was there because it was beginning to amuse him; the idea of the little prick cooking for him was enthralling. He supposed he could start to use him in the kitchen just as much as he used him for other womanly tasks.

"What are you mak'n, exactly?" Blake finally asked, seeing him walk quickly over to the cupboard to look for something else, without even asking. He seemed renewed with a fervor that he couldn't quite place.

"Well, that depends…Do you have- never mind, I got it…"

A box of soft taco shells made its way out of the cupboard in his hands, and quickly tore at the top to open it.

"Hey! I just bought those-"

"Well, you want me to make you dinna'h? I'll need materials…"

"No shit, Sherlock. What 'r you makn' so I know if I'll even _want _that slop?"

Placing the soft shells on the counter, he looked around sheepishly as he sought to defrost the steak in the microwave, realizing he'd have to walk past that monster of a man in the process.

"I'm mak'in…Fajitas."

"I beg you're _pardon_?" Blake asked in an obviously patronizing fashion.

"I'm mak'in Fajit'ahs!'" He put, a bit louder then before. "I make the best 'round. Everyone I know- I mean 'knew'…Will tell you that."

There was a bit of an awkward silence as the black-haired male looked at Jayden practically slack-jawed, mouth slightly open as he eyed the younger man with suspicion more then hate.

"Really?" His tone was condescending. "You? Some bureaucratic, Boston-brat asshole can make the best fajitas in Washington? You bein' funny?"

A slight anger overtook the younger gentlemen, and he bit the inside of his bottom lip to resist retorting back full-force.

"You _think _it's funny?"

"I sure do."

"Then I guess _I'll _just be eat'n, then…By mah'self."

A small pause hung in the air as Norman once again strode towards the fridge, in a desperate search for some sort of vegetable, preferably green peppers and onions. Maybe some sour cream, guacamole-

"The hell you will. I'm startv'n."

'_Ignore him and he caves. Remember that one in the future, Norm.'_

"So, it's not so funny, then?"

"I never said it wasn't funny…" Blake chuckled a tad under his breath.

"Watch'n you make Mexican food for me is pretty _fuckn funny_, actually."

Norman put both eyebrows up, yet closed his eyes as he turned around and rubbed his knuckle into his left socket.

"Whatevah…So you want some?"

"You're using my _food. _So yeah, let's see what you got there, Mr. D.C."

"You run outta nicknames for me, yet?" He retaliated as he stooped to find a saucepan. Luckily, he'd found them earlier that day when he was by himself.

"It's limitless with _you, __**Norman.**_" He stressed with an underlying hatred.

"You open yourself up for it-"

"Bullshit- What if I called 'yah Philly? Wouldn't that piss you off?"

"Eh- I've been called worse…Though I suppose in that case, I'd feel like a little horse."

"Sorry?" Jayden asked, confused and a bit bewildered.

"A filly? It's a little girl horse-"

"Oh! _That _filly…No, that's not…naw, naw…no, That's perfect, then."

"A-hah…You're fuck'n hilarious…"

"That's what they tell me."

"No they don't. And it's 'told', now, you corpse."

They continued to argue rather uselessly as Blake went over and sat on his ass, watching the two uninteresting games as the younger man began to cook. Jayden struggled to find all the materials needed, knew he wasn't going to find green peppers, but was lucky enough to find onions and tomatoes. There was some butter (even if he preferred margarine) and plopped it onto a sizzling pan, already getting excited for the concept of eating the food he swore he hadn't made for months. He was simply always busy, rarely having the time to cook. Now? Well, now he was dead…He had all the time in the world!

After some time, Blake smelled the aroma of newly-defrosted meat being sizzled, and his mouth instantly began to water. The sound of the carrion being wrenched from its Styrofoam and plastic holdings was enough to get him excited- but now he was getting hungry all over again. It wasn't the insane craving he had early that day, but instead the simple desire to eat something so flavorful. He could hear the crackling sound of some garlic and pepper mixed together a they popped on the pan. He licked his lips and craned his neck as he saw the robed figure standing in front of the pan, not even able to see the meal he was already craving.

"That uh…That's smelli'n good, there…" He nervously admitted, and in retrospect he wondered why he even said it. It just made him seem weak and needy.

"I told 'yah…The best 'a-rawnd."

A few minutes went by, he could hear Jayden struggling through the fridge until Blake finally decided to hurry up the process.

"There's some guacamole still unopened, it's in the cupboard by the fridge…Sour cream is in the bottom drawer in the crispers- there's only a little left."

'_Christ. Might as well be married…' _The dead agent sighed, standing up after he finally found said sour cream, placing it with some anger on the counter-top. Sure, he appreciated help from the home's owner instead of him just sitting there as he made dinner like his fucking wife. Yet on the same page, he also wanted some sort of independence. The more Blake helped him, the more he felt diminished in his abilities, he liked being in control, and it bothered him otherwise. Like any case where he received police help, and especially the last one that finally killed him. The one where he lost all control, and its consequences were eternal.

It wasn't long after that, Jayden found himself toasting the tortilla shells, placing them on two plates until he caught himself. _'Goddawm, stop that. He can get his own.'_

"Come get what 'ya want, Cartah." He announced, placing his own selections on his place, careful to split it down the middle as much as he could.

Carter seemed to jolt out of place, turning around and stepping up as he stretched from his relaxed position.

"'Bout time…" He mused, eyeing Norman with a slight irritation as they locked gazes. Did this asshole appreciate _anything?_

The look of irritation was returned as Jayden took his plate, filled with tortilla shells arranged perfectly, onions, steak slivers, and splattering of both sour cream and the green guacamole. Blake had to admit he took a long look at his food and found it simply irresistible. He got up to the skillet and began to inhale the aroma, his mouth watering as he arranged everything as close to possible to what Jayden had done- he hated to admit it, but he at least knew what he was doing in that department. The bottle of hot sauce still remained on the counter, which he took quickly before Jayden could. There were two things he loved, sweet and spicy, the sensation of his mouth on fire being a favorite of his.

Getting himself a stack of napkins, he turned towards the bureaucrat who seated himself back on the couch, now engaged with the football game that apparently heated up since he's stood up to acquire his meal. He covered those steps quickly, having a seat next to him- not because he _wanted _to sit next to the little asshole, but because it was the only place to put his plate while he ate- and with that, sat his plate down. Norman was already inhaling one, but not before dipping it in both condiments.

Blake took a bite, and was quite surprised by how good it was. It reminded him of something similar to the dish prepared at many chain restaurants, like a Chili's or Applebee's. To him that was "fine dining", as his typical meals were spent either from a microwave, diner, Denny's ,or it's counterparts throughout the area. It could only be so good thanks to the limited supplies, but he found himself quickly inhaling them more due to it's taste then to simple hunger.

The sound of two alpha males chewing filled the living room; the noises of an enthusiastic football game just barely drowning them out. Blake wiped his mouth as he took a drink of his water, clearing his throat as he watched one of the Eagles fumble.

"Shiiiiiit!" He mused.

"See that?" He pointed gesturing to the player laying on the field face-first, as if even _he _couldn't believe the horrendous mistake made.

"That shit- right there…That's why they're losin' the season. Stupid _fuck'n _mistakes…"

Jayden gave a crooked smirk, looking down as he messed with the remainder of his meal, spying Blake's plate to look for any left-over extras, finding him still practically raping his meal.

"Yeah…"

There was an awkward silence as the older man finished, once again slurping the water and wiping his hands and mouth off. He looked up as he threw his napkin onto the plate, his usual habit of indicating his feeding session was finished. His ex-partner looked to have filled up even faster then him, sniffling as he looked down out of the heavy atmosphere the room pervaded, the tense air that blew between them; and found himself wanting to reach for Blake's water- he was parched.

Carter licked his lips and tried to concentrate on the game, instead finding some sort of nagging guilt chewing at his heels. Wasn't there something he should be saying? Something that people usually say to one another to…show their appreciation for what they did? What was that word again…?

"Hey, uh…Thanks. That was good."

Norman blinked, inwardly telling himself that he _must _be still dreaming…Carter just didn't…Well, do _that. _What he just said, the words that came out of his mouth…He wasn't sure he remembered him saying thanks to _anyone_, let alone him. It was shocking; and if the young agent hadn't pissed himself earlier that day, he certainly would have right then.

"You're welcome, Cartuh. You help me, I help you…"

Carter watched the kid nod as a look of surprise fell upon his face; he knew it. Shouldn't have said anything. Now shit went and got weird.

"Yeah, well…" Grunting as he once again stood up, he made his way over towards the kitchen. Jayden went to follow him, but Blake's hand signaled him to stay put.

"No, I got it…You stay here- you cooked; I can clean."

"Are yah sure? I don't mind-"

"Sitch'a ass _down, _Norm." His tone more serious this time.

"I'm not fuck'n lazy, I can do it myself."

A small expression of combined disdain mixed with surprise once again filled his youthful, pale visage, and he turned around as he relaxed fully against the couch. Listening to the sound of pots and pans clanging together along with running water, he then realized that the older man had forgotten his plate, instead only grabbing his own.

"Cartah?"

"Hmm?" His voice was on the edge of irritation, and he turned around as he watched him dry his wet hands with a small towel. It really was odd, seeing as Norman had grown so used to seeing the man in such a depressing, downtrodden atmosphere. His dark appearance, framed by his harsh, moody blue eyes and jet-black hair was only amplified by the clothing he wore. He wondered if it was on purpose that the man dressed in black and blue- both colors his body harvested naturally. It caused those dusky navy eyes to pop horribly from under his sullen eyebrows. Imposing, frightening, and very well the reason he was able to get so far in life. The agent reasoned, anyway. Fear could go a long way.

In that light, Norman's breath stopped. Once again things flashed away, and he was back in some other world. It took him some time, of course, to realize that. All the while his system screamed as it tingled, tried to understand and grasp the sudden rush of air, the drop in temperature, the flashing of light changing dramatically. The tingle in the back of his eyes, like the sensation of a million bulbs popping at once, cascading down shards of glass.

It wasn't the ocean, not Mars or even the pleasant Autumn forest with it's quaint little rock and wood deck, but instead an odd dreamscape of some strange design. There was a humid, thickly-aired swamp all around his current position- or maybe the term was marsh? Bog? Christ, he didn't know. It certainly was a change of atmosphere from the oddly pleasant places he'd been in previous times.

Around him loomed dead, decaying trees. Their bleached-white husks towering into the air, their roots inundated with swampy water. It smelled of mold, moss, and that sickly wet stench of rotting wood. There were no humming frogs, no starry night sky above him, but instead an oddly…brown expanse that soared over his head, reaching from side to side, front to back, and it's appearance was nothing short of terrible and frightening, resembling a sky but not quite. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen before, just a cool and dank brown color, with a hot white towards the horizon. The agent wondered if this was perhaps the same color the sky would look to be at the end of the world. Be it by the hand of God or man- natural or nuclear.

Just when he didn't think this new plain of reality wasn't weird enough- lightening struck. Not metaphorically, but instead literally. He jolted as the sound - extremely similar to a gunshot- shot through the air, and instead watched as the brightest pink he could imagine flashed in torrents across the sky. It was nearly beautiful, and momentary lapses of black flowed through the heavens not long after it. Another strike, another sound of a gunshot (Norman couldn't help but notice it sounded _far _more like gunfire then any normal lightening should) and the atmosphere above spider-webbed itself with pinks and blacks.

Norman was still on some sort of couch. It seemed to be an old ragged one, something someone would leave on the side of the road instead of having it 'properly' disposed of. It reeked especially of this environment, now a small loveseat that was far from desirable He hadn't noticed it before, the scenery and now the new weather was far too interesting. Despite the gross object he now sat on, he looked around from his perch, the cool air stinging and generally unpleasant. He breathed out to see the water vapor collect in the air, teeth beginning to chatter hopelessly.

It was then when he caught sight of something else that he'd consider very strange. A movement to his slight middle-right, his head jerked in that direction without thinking. It took a while for him to catch it again, and only at that moment of intense concentration did he see it. A flash of white, and a swan gently began to pedal its way out from behind a partially deceased tree. It seemed calm, laying its neck back against its own body, gently stirring the water as the only sound it made- water moving- echoed in the chilly air.

'_Now that's strange. I'm gonna __**really **__lose it, soon.'_

The swan then seemed to notice Jayden sitting there on the soiled couch, and reacted, rearing up as it flapped its wings. Doing his best to appear non-threatening, the brunette remained still and instead sought to just watch- until before him the swan's feathers changed. From head to toe, they turned a rich black. When the bird finished flapping, it was complete, and seemed to find more interesting activities in preening its newly acquired outerwear.

This, along with this whole new dreamscape, puzzled the profiler to a grand degree. He looked around, top and bottom, and could swear he heard the gentle play of a flute. It sent shivers up his spine instead of that gentle calm it normally would inspire. It didn't sound natural at all, and the gunfire cracked again as the expanse above opened up, a rainfall beginning from nowhere as he reacted out of shock, stepping back off the couch into a standing position as he blinked- feeling the air warm up around him. The fluting intensified, it was in his ears, in his head-

Now the swan was no more, he looked back to see if he could find it for a reason he didn't quite understand. He didn't know _why, _just that he _had _to find that fucking swan-

"_Fuck-"_

Something big and smelly knocked him down, slammed him with such force that his head swirled about in a dizzying array that he couldn't wrench back into the real world. It lifted him up and planted him back into the spongy, muddy earth, and he cried out in despair as he closed his swirling eyes. The lightening stopped, instead replaced by a dreary grey, the rain slowing and being replaced by a cold sleet. It appeared now just as it did outside, he was certain. It was the normal Philadelphian sky he had grown accustomed to.

It - whatever 'it' was- said something-something incomprehensible- and he looked up to see a massive creature, something he had a hard time seeing, much less describing- holding him down. He supposed that if he had to use an Earthly creature to compare it to, it would be that of a bear or other ursine beast. Where eyes would normally be, pits of white hotter then the sun blazed with no foreseeable power source. The back of its head wasn't the back of its head, replaced by another face similar to the first. Yet he couldn't see the whole thing thanks to his angle.

It didn't blink as it looked into his eyes, and the agent couldn't help but cry unmercifully. He wasn't sad, wasn't even terrified…Yet his eyes leaked against his will in torrents. It was simply impossible to contemplate what was going on, it was too fast, the ground too hard and cold beneath him, the thing above too heavy and its claws too blunt and painful as they sunk into his chest. Above all, its eyes simply were impossible to look into, rather like a supernova, he was convinced doing so would make him blind.

It opened it's mouth, and instead of a growl or words he felt an intense wind coupled with an unearthly sound so base, so baritone, that it simply couldn't be-

'_Norman!'_

"_Norman- Norm?_

"Jayden! Wake the _fuck up_-"

Blake had watched as Jayden disappeared again, his own reaction was a slight surprise, yet simply believed the kid had merely faded out and nothing more. When he felt like it, he'd suppose he could bring him back to stay the night. He had been planning on perhaps getting some much needed alone-time. It was something he had wanted, but like a busy house wife, he probably wouldn't know what to do once he had it.

Yet as the time period of about ten to eleven minutes went by, and he heard a surprising 'thump' that jolted him back into the living room from the kitchen. With a hand towel once again in his fist, he quickly walked over to find Jayden sprawled on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. It wasn't so much that, (which was highly noticeable in itself) it was the absolutely catatonic and bleach-white completion he wore. Even if the dead agent usually looked a bit unfocused, he'd never looked that bad. Needless to say, it was a touch frightening.

His face stained with what had to be tears, eyes wide with a pseudo-shock, and the only thing Blake could think of was that he had seen _something _that had sent him into some sort of horrified state, and he wasn't recovering from it, either.

Finding himself quickly coming to a kneel before the younger man; he looked closer into those grey-blue eyes, and found nothing there. A lack of not only intelligence, but general comprehension or conscious thought. He put a hand out and took Norman's right shoulder, shaking him a little to try and rouse him from whatever sort of insanity that had befallen him. It was a sort of instinctual action for the seasoned cop, murderers and innocents alike needed to be checked on in his profession. Though he'd be the first to admit he didn't exactly rush to a guilty man's side. At least he'd began to accept the annoying man-whore's company.

"Hey…Hey, you alright?"

The minute the last word left his lips, he winced and nearly fell back as Jayden _screamed- _nearly at the top of his lungs. Blake recoiled and backpedaled across the floor, scooting on his ass- a few feet- not so much from fear as pure and simple avoidance. He heard him scream again, bloodcurdling and racked with the sort of primordial fear he hadn't seen in a man for a long time. His arms shot up and blocked his face, legs curling up to put himself into a ball as he fell to his side, turning into a writhing and kicking fetus.

Surprisingly calm despite the circumstances, Blake took a few more steps back and stood there, lips loosely parted and watching as the young man trembled on the ground, a muffled scream passed his lips as he kept his head tangled heavily with his arms and legs; had this been anybody else, he's swear he was having some sort of drug after-effect, but this was Jayden… Ol' Straight-n-Narrow. Probably used to sleep with a bible under his pillow before he croaked it.

"Norman!"

Nothing, not a twitch, not a word.

"Norman! Norm?" He got closer, inching down as he now saw the young man's ribcage inflating and deflating at an insane rate. Whatever had caused this, it had just about scared him right to death- again.

"Jayden! Wake the fuck up-"

Crouching, he reached over and grabbed Norman's shoulder as he announced his formal name, hoping it might jog something. He shook; and that's when the Norman _exploded _for lack of a better term, skittering up as his legs sprang apart and uncoiled, sending him up into the air and towards the wall, where he hit Blake's bookcase and caused a few books to fall, along with some picture frames to tip over.

"-G'het away!" Norman had squealed in a rather high tone of voice as he performed the action. Carter stood there with a repulsed look in his features, shoulders boxed and body tight similar to a dog standing it's ground.

"For fuck's sake, Jayden!" He bellowed, eyeing him up and down as he watched him breath, sweat lacing his face as his eyes appeared wider then any saucer.

"Stay awa'h…" The man against the wall muttered, and Blake watched as his Adam's apple bounced as he swallowed, then opened his mouth to catch his breath. The older male swore he could hear his heart beating the whole six or eight feet that separated them.

"This _my _goddamn house!" Carter's voice rose, very obviously irritated with this whole bullshat charade.

"-You don't tell me-"

Blake launched himself forward, covering the room quickly, charging across without hindrance. Jayden reacted, tensing as his body became as taut as a cable, watching the older man's form come closer without a fucking thing he could do about it. Then he touched him, grabbed his shoulder again-

"Don'tcha _fuck'n touch me!"_

What happened next was something neither of them wanted; what had been a growing complacency between the two of them (give or take) over the past few days was ruined in an instant. Norman grabbed at Carter's strong, masculine hand and pinched it in a fearful embrace, pushing it down and away as he attempted to swat him from his body. Carter's reaction was delayed, not at all expecting such a harsh attack by the younger man. The agent hadn't been having his little bitch-fits lately, the times where he seemed to flip his shit every chance Blake was even a little doubtful of his abilities- now it was more out of defense.

For what had to be a few measly split seconds, Blake gave Jayden an angry sneer, his eyes wide and ravenous as the bull had just been poked. Snapping forward, he took that same injured hand and reached up as he got hold of those soft locks and pulled him down as hard as he could muster; then gave one hard push as he sent him flying into the coffee table, forehead first. Blake couldn't slow down the action, didn't catch the way Jayden's body reacted much like a rag-doll, buckling and causing his back to arch, the backside of his head to fly upwards from the bounce, then his head to crack against the table one more time before he hit the carpeted floor in a slump.

"-Touch yah' all I _want." _

Came the hiss as he did the action, the very end of "want" obscured and nearly undetectable as the sound of Norman slamming down filled the air. He circled his prey as he looked over the slumped-over man on his carpet, body in a heap as his left knee was buckled under his body, arms joining them as they folded under his chest.

'_Shit- he's not moving…'_

A small sliver of fear rose up inside Blake's chest, making his stomach bottom out and face heat up. He had yet to regret the action, as he had done it more out of a sort of demented self-defense then of malice. He'd easily knocked men out before for far less; but he hadn't really meant it this time. A simple punch in the gut or crotch would have been far more satisfying.

"Jayden?"

Getting on his knees, he scooched up by the kid's face and tried to get a better look. He wondered if he had…Killed him? Fuck, if so he really wasted a lot of time trying to keep the little shit alive-

A groan, shuddering and painful, and he knew he wasn't. Blake let out a small breath of relief, but wasn't going to jump up and down, either. He still hadn't moved, and instead watched as Jayden's form remained practically lifeless except the apparently almost-impossibly light breathes he was taking.

"Norman? You…Alright?"

Another pause, a long one this time. There was no response, and Blake found himself at an impasse. Just what the fuck did he do to him? He swore, if the little fuck went into a coma…He didn't know what would be the first thing to do. Get him to a hospital? Oh, that would go by REAL fucking great, wouldn't it? "_Hey, Blake, you had a dead man in your house, and yet somehow knocked him out- oh we also found your semen in his stomach. How did that work out for you? By the way, he won't be able to perform for you ever again, he's paralyzed from the neck down and you need to feed him through a straw."_

'_Fuck! You really did it this time…' _He wasn't the first man he'd beaten into unconsciousness, by no means. But this wasn't the same- _fuck_, this was a _Federal Agent_…A _dead _Federal Agent that gave quite good head and could apparently make good fajitas. Though the giving head thing was his main area of concern. Good thing Norman didn't hit his jaw on the way down- that would have been a very unfortunate loss. The young man was steadily becoming a little 'pet project' for him; a hobby. Like a dog that could walk around on two legs.

He admittedly felt himself become very concerned, and immediately began checking vitals. Members of the police squad were taught this back in their training, a mandatory course that forced them to learn how to read a unconscious man's signs and give life-saving CPR. Of course, everybody rolled their eyes and fudged the class the best they could. They all knew full well they weren't going to give another man mouth-to-mouth; especially the pieces of shit they had to hold themselves back from killing most of the time. He was just glad he kept a bottle of Purell in his glove department and bottom drawer of his desk.

Hand gliding over his shoulder, he pressed his fingers to the hurt ex-agent's neck. A frown burrowed itself deeply into his face, feeling nothing. Then he pressed deeper, this time feeling the fragile man's pulse, light and fleeting but there. It was very slow, shallow and struggled to beat. It reminded him of a butterfly's wings, fluttering… lighter then air.

'_Kid's dead, yeah…But that's still not right. Heart's struggl'n to beat…'_

Sitting up, he contemplated his next action. _'Never move an unconscious person.' _They always said, but what the hell else was he supposed to do, wait until he got back up? He supposed that was his only choice. Standing with some trouble, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and decided to use the bathroom, taking his shirt and pants that Jayden had previously worn and thrown them in the washer, where he found all his own clothing that had been in his hamper the last few days previous.

'_I thought he was screwing with me…little shit really did try to do the laundry. We'll I'll be goddamned.'_

Walking back into his living room, he found himself auspiciously glad that Norman was shakily getting up on all fours, jaw slacked and arms shaking.

"Hey-hey-hey, wait…"

Rushing to his side, he was on his knees before he could even attempt to stop himself. Blake's arm came up around his back, and found the younger man shaking in his arms violently. He was even more pale then usual, face literally drained of color. A sheet of paper would have been jealous of his complexion.

"Uhhhh…Uhhh…M'ah head….Oh Chr-ist, my heeeaaad…"

Jayden moved a hand to his forehead as the pressure beat there intensely, feeling a throbbing on the inside of his forehead that greatly increased with every heartbeat. He felt a warmth pulse there, and reached up to pull his hand back with blood smearing his palm. Was that this from? It wasn't like he wasn't used to bleeding. His vision was blurry as his heart accelerated, and he looked down to find a large splattering of a dark red stain on the floor.

"Sorr'ah…Sorry, 'bout'cha cah'pet…"

His words were slurred, mouth barely able to work as he felt strong arms lift his torso backwards, knees still kissing the floor as he was sat up.

"Damn it, you're bleeding…" Blake sighed, and the realization of whom it was made him tremble even more. A full-force tremor ruptured Jayden's body as he let out a pained cry.

"Wa'h…From?"

Blake sat down as he pulled the younger man into his lap, and this sudden action made Jayden jerk in response as he felt the other man's inviting and warm body cradling his own. All eroticism vanished and was replaced by an awkward air as he realized he didn't want that- his skin pulling away from the sensation but his body simply unable to pull himself out. He looked up as his head lolled back like a rag-doll, and watched as Blake looked down at him rather like a doting father.

"You're forehead…There's a big gash…"

"No, that was from…"

"What?"

Jayden didn't realize he'd slipped up until then, barely catching it as his head swirled around, then watched as Carter seemed to be looking into his barely-open eyes, prying one fully open with one hand while the other steadied him, using his thumb and forefinger to draw the eyelids back to expose his right eye, where he seemed to analyze it. The whole thing was rather surreal.

"You're eyes are normal… good."

"Oh...Oh, did I hit ma'h head?" He still was reeling from what happened, a giant black gap filling his memory from the time he was done eating dinner. It was the last thing he remembered.

"Yeah…you fell…"

There was something guarded in the older man's voice, but he ignored it. He just scowled up angrily and closed his eyes, letting out a low whine as he went ahead and leaned up against the lieutenant without heed. He really was toasty, vibrantly warm, his body oddly comforting as his chest rose and fell against his face. It was more out of comfort then anything. Although not a withdrawal, he quite missed any sort of caring person as he struggled with them before.

Carter looked around the room with an empty brain, shallow with thoughts. What exactly was he supposed to do? Normally he was great at making split-second decisions like this. His gut told him to pick up the phone, call the E.R. They didn't need to know Jayden's real name, didn't have to question anything- but Jayden had become famous in his death. The chances that at least one of the workers at the hospital would recognize him were too great. He was lucky enough that the gay man at the suit store didn't seem to notice. At that point, he felt him cradle against his own body, and a surge of discomfort rattled his bones. A deep breath, a slight growl in his throat, and he sought to get away.

"Norman, I'm not a fuck'n pillow."

"Really? 'Yah soft like one…"

A cough came up in Blake's throat, a look of surprise and disgust on his face as he pulled away, lifting him up and to the couch instead. Laying him gently on the pillowed end as he bent down and recovered the young man's feet and pulled them up. It was on the tip of his tongue to lash out with curses, but surprisingly enough he stopped when he saw Jayden's scowl return, the scrunching up of his facial muscles, the wrinkling of that normally taut forehead.

"You better be _grateful _for this; I missed the end of both games for you."

"Who…Who won?"

'_He's still able to talk…Not passing out, yet.'_

"Eagles 30-27...Phillies 4-3."

"_Fuck_!"

Blake actually found himself laughing a little at that, face flashing red again from the exertion and worry he'd been going through, and now by the unintentional crack-up. The utter seriousness and abruptness that was in Jayden's voice was simply laugh-inducing. He'd just been through a near-death experience, and the only thing he could worry about was whether his home team had won or lost. He could admire that.

"I think ya' got more problems to worry about, there, hot-shot." He said with the passing of a sigh.

"You're head's bleedin', and you have a concussion…A bad one. You can't remember shit, can you?"

A few blinks, and Norman shut his eyes as he kept them closed, laying his head down. The room had begun to spin horribly; Carter's voice becoming a dense, chopped up cacophony of incomprehensible words- and by that he meant less then usual.

"That's not good." He nearly cried out, feeling his head throb. He could still feel the pulsation about his head, and at that point, he heard Blake rush back and forth, and a warmth wetness fell on his forehead.

Looking up, the small amount of light nearly blinded him; yet the dark silhouette of Blake was seen sitting in front of his laid-down form on the couch, hovering over as he pressed a warm, wet washcloth on his wound.

"You're gonna bleed all over my house..."

"Sor- Oh fa'wk, sawry- I forgot'cha hate that." A yawn came out after it; and Blake couldn't help but feel just a tad motherly in such a situation. In some eerily fucked-up way, this was the closest he'd ever been to taking care of somebody he had ever gotten. This was the last thing he'd been expecting to do tonight, that was for certain.

"Don't worry about it, kid. Shit happens."

"Yeah…Esp'sh-lly to me."

Blake laughed a little in the back of his throat- three chuckles, maybe four- and pulled back the washcloth, using the other side to soak up the newly-pouring blood. The previous side had been soaked with the bodily fluid as it was. Luckily enough, it looked to be slowing. Odd, he couldn't help but take in the moment…He hated Jayden's guts from day one, and here he was mopping up his ruptured head. His blood was red like his, like everyone's, the dead man still bled like he was living.

"Shit happens to all of us, Norm. You sure as hell ain't alone."

"Yeah…Yeah I know…I just can't catch a break, though…I'm dead, don't f'ahget."

"I'd call _this _one hell of a break- you know you can't be _dead_ if you're here on my couch-"

"A break all right…On m'ah head."

Blake laughed in a bit more genuine way this time, and he was surprised when he felt guilt creeping in. It was a long, long time since he felt guilty of anything- be it an actual crime against a suspect, or saying the wrong thing and offending the wrong person. It was easy to do for him, and his ability to not care made him a psychopath of sorts. A smile disappeared from his face as he watched the dead man begin to drift off to sleep, a small ounce of fear clutched at him as he gently smacked the younger man's cheek.

"Hey, now…You got a concussion…You can't go to sleep, not yet."

It was one of the few things he thought he knew about the condition, and so he stuck with it. When he was a child he fell down the steps from the top floor, and had to be rushed to the hospital with many a broken bone to be tended to, and the one thing he remembered clear as day was his frightened mother holding him in the back seat, keeping him awake by making him answer questions; everything from his favorite toys to who his favorite G.I. Joe was. (He still remembered that shit; Sergeant Slaughter!) His father drove them to the nearest hospital where he could recover. Only then did the doctors let him sleep it off on a lovely cloud of Morphine.

'_Worth a try…' _He pondered. _'Hopefully, he won't remember this, either…'_

"What? But…I'm…I'm tired…" He sounded it, too. Listening to him made him want to drift to sleep as well.

"Hold on." He breathed, getting up with a 'huff' of irritation, coming back with a fresh rag and a big, brown bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide. He wet the new rag and practically shoved it onto Jayden's gaping wound. He watched the kid stifle a cry of sudden pain, his feet folding up, toes curling and fingers clenching as his eyes screwed shut.

"Fffff!" Norman bit his lip. "Ow-"

Blake very obviously rolled his eyes, cursing something under his breath about Jayden 'acting like a little girl', then watched wearily as he reached down to grab two bandages, peeling the papers apart and taking out two individually wrapped white band aids that looked to have been lifted from the police station. He wasn't sure why he knew that, he supposed it was their plain appearance. He took the plastic off of each one hurriedly as he carefully applied one haphazardly over the gaping wound, then did the same to the other, forming a loose "X". Blood was already saturating them, but let them be for now. He only had a few left, and would really rather save them for now.

"Stings like a bitch- but it won't get infected…" _'Why I give a shit, I wouldn't know. _"Stay awake for a little bit longer."

"God, Cartah…How'm I gonna do…" Another yawn, his tired body was drained with all this stress, and a new injury. The swilling nausea he was feeling made him just want to black out and let it swallow him whole.

Another pause, and Blake asked. "When you were a boy, Norman…What was you're favorite toy?'

"Huh?"

"Answer the _question_, faggot." He swore, slightly irritated.

"What was you're favorite dolly like?"

"Fuck you- it was no dolly…It was this stuffed din'a'saur thing…its name was Howard."

'_Hol-ey shit, will you look at that. My entertainment for the night!'_

"Howard? You named you're stuffed dinosaur…Howard?"

"What's wrong with…Howard?" Norman pressed, eyes closing shut, still highly bothered by the light.

"That's a person's name- you couldn't call him something like "Spike" or-?"

"I was twelve, Cartah! I don't fuck'n know…"

Blake couldn't get the smile off his face, he wouldn't be able to, even if he tried. Instead, he sat on the coffee table and continued his little interrogation. This time, he'd leave his fists dormant.

"Have any pets growing up? A fuck'n cat, hamster or…a special _goldfish? _Pet rock, anything?"

This time, Norman smiled. Though he couldn't stop his head from lolling back and forth on his loose and tired neck.

"Nah... My parents hated animals…"

"Yah' gotta be shit'n me." Blake cursed, actually feeling sorry for the younger man. "A boy's gotta have a dog…At least a _turtle _for fuck's sake.."

"I ah-most had a turtle once, but they said it'd smell…"

"Dad ever do any weird shit to you?" Blake tried, changing the subject as the air got weird. "I bet he must have- you turned out all queer and all."

Jayden almost- _almost _became offended. Then he found himself taking a higher road, his swirling thoughts making his face red with embarrassment as he conceived the lie.

"Dressed me up in a tutu h'all the time and made me dance- Made me try on makeup, wear high-heels…What, is that weird? I 'ad no idea. Seemed nah-mal to me."

He surprised himself with how serious he sounded, the etching of a smile on his lips, but not enough to immediately tell he was joking. Blake made a face of both disdain and surprise, looking to be taken aback as he gave Norman a side-ways glance and put his hands to his knees.

"…Are…Are bein' you serious, Jayden?"

He couldn't take it anymore, he cracked up, bursting forth with laughter so hard his head ached and had to keep himself from falling right off the couch. It was painful but he couldn't stop; the look on Blake's face when he said that was just utterly hilarious. He could never forget it at this point, the only other sight rivaling it being the look he gave him when he first used ARI in the police precinct.

"Oh, you _son _of a _bitch_," Carter swore, only now beginning a deep chuckle as he rose his hands to his face and cradled his cheek in one palm as he rested it on his knee, wiping away the sweat from his continued worry. "You really had me 'goin."

"I noticed- it must not be hard to fool the ol' Lieutenant Carter Blake. Easier then I thought!"

Blake's face bore a darker red of embarrassment, and he was about to stand up in a huff when he watched as Jayden's eyes opened a bit more, noticing they were still normal.

"Yeah, well, you're dead, asshole." He finished; "So don't laugh too hard…"

Leaning back, Norman rested on the couch and closed his eyes, only wanting to let his body slip into sweet, sweet rest. Just sleep the night away, week, and whole month away. Why not? What else was there to do in this gloomy, cold climate?

"Sure, sure…" Another yawn. "F'ah a dead man, I sure feel tired."

Standing up, Carter found himself irritated with the situation. The thing to do would have been to take him to a hospital, and the fact that he couldn't was aggravating as all fuck. Sure, Norman probably could just die and be 'resurrected' again, but he wasn't entirely sure that's how it worked. Besides…Would that Norman be on the up-and-up, full and happy, 'well maintained' expensive whore like this one? Probably not. He didn't want a new model, this old one had plenty of miles left and he was beginning to like the way it handled.

Besides, if he had to deal with all that bullshit from when he first arrived- he's swear he'd rather the fucker stay dead.

'_So, now what? Can't call an ambulance, can't take him to the hospital, wish I had a computer here at home so I could at least look it up- oh shit! That's right…'_

Norman watched with little interest as his partner got up, walking away with a sort of determination he remembered from the Origami Killer case; like when he questioned the shrink, or even Mars. It usually meant he thought he was right. It was a look the dead agent wasn't sure liked. He wanted to ask where he was going, but instead sat there as his eyelids began to drearily close.

"Any other favorite things when you were a boy?' He asked from behind him, way across the room.

"You didn't just have stuffed animals, did you? There had to be something' you got excited about…"

For the life of him, he couldn't quite understand Blake's odd questioning. He lolled his head to the side, and considered, wetting his lips and doing his best to think back to days practically long forgotten.

"Th'ah was…This plane, it was… awe_some. _You w'und it up and it would fl'ah forevah…" He laughed a little, relishing the memory. How big and exciting everything was back then, how innocent and simple the world was to his wide eyes. As a child he only ever wanted to grow up, now all he wanted was to be back in that old house, watching his plane bounce around his room him and his older brother shared.

"Then my damn broth'ah took it with him when he…Went to live with dad…'Nevah saw it again…"

A final shuffle of something behind him, and he heard Blake walk back over, a large hardcover book in his hands and was nearly as thick as the D.C. phonebooks.

"What's that?"

Blake gave him an irritated look, staring back from under his eyebrows heavily as he appeared to be chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"A medical journal…" He mumbled, sitting on the opposite end of the couch as he balanced the huge book on his knees as he licked his fingers and began to turn the pages.

"…Y'ah have a medical journal in y'ah house?" The younger male asked, stabilizing himself on the couch as he felt the room swirl again. A shudder went through him as he laid back down, trying hard not to go right to sleep. Not as hard as he should be, he'd admit.

"You'd get shot enough, you'd have one, too…" That look again, those small, dark blue eyes huskily smiled for him from under those deep-set eyebrows, and Norman had to admit he smiled back.

"There's plenty of shit in here the doctor's never told me…"

Mumbling as he turned the pages, he seemed to quickly find the "concussion" section. Under it, he took his finger and ran it through the words lining the page, lips moving as his heart raced, hoping for half-decent news. Fuck it, if he had to take Norm to the doctor, he would. It wouldn't be easy, and explaining it after the fact would be horrid, but he couldn't let the pain-in-the-ass just die-

"_It is a myth that recent concussion victims cannot go to sleep afterwards."_ He found, and read aloud.

"_In fact, they may sleep through the night."_

Norman grinned like mad and lay against the couch, letting his eyes rest.

"Goooood…"

Though he hated to be wrong, he was also glad it got the prick out of his hair. He continued to read, and although he was still concerned that he could be pushing up daises in the middle of the night, things still seemed to be on the up-and-up, as the other symptoms were either nonexistent or seemed to be lessening.

"You should be fine…" The self-named Dr. Blake announced. "Stay up for another fifteen, though…I wanna be sure…"

Looking back up, he found himself talking to a closed-eyed federal agent, and he released an odd growl through his nose as he snorted.

"Goddamn it, hey…Hey!" He stood up and tapped him hard on the cheek, though it was definitely more like a "slap" then a tap, really.

"Wha…What! Y'ah said I could…Sleep."

"Yeah, but I _also _said to wait until your eyes…Just shut up, do what I fuck'n say, alright?"

"Shut up…Lemme…lemme sleeep…"

Another small smack to the cheek, another gasp from the younger man on the couch.

"Nope."

Groaning, Norman opened his eyes and tried to focus on anything in the room, even the smallest detail. Anything to prove to Carter that he was okay enough to lay down and rest. He couldn't help but notice the older man was watching him like a hawk, and making him rather uncomfortable as a result.

"Since when do…You give a shit, Blake?" He asked, eyes oddly glinting in the subdued light of the room, and Blake had to stop himself from stumbling with his words, his reply coming faster then he had anticipated. What he wanted to say, and what he actually said were two different things.

"Well I…I told you this shit before-"

"Yeah but…If I die, I'd probably just come back, I mean." He shrugged. "Who's to say I'm even alive right now? I still don't get how this works- Probably never will." Norman yawned again, once more making him tired as a result.

"We don't know that, _do we_?" Then came another yawn on his part, and he tripped up on his next coming words. _'Damn it, Norm…'_

"I thought you wanted rid of me from day one?"

Words came out of Carter's mouth before he even wanted them to, before he could analyze and interpret its meaning.

"Listen; I don't know why I give a shit, okay? Don't have the slightest fuck'n clue, so just shut up and take advantage of my good nature, alright asshole?" Came an irritated prattle, and the ex-FBI just made a 'taken' aback' motion and fluttered his eyelids as he sat against the couch.

"Okay…"

"It's not in my nature to just let someone die…I'm a cop for fuck's sake, and if you're decent enough you might even make me _give _a shit about you. You earned at least that- don't fuck it up."

Nodding, Norman didn't want to point out that he'd nearly let Shaun Mars die with his ego leading the way, more interested in Ethan Mars and getting him behind bars then the search for the actual killer. Though he supposed it all had the same intent. Whatever, he wasn't thinking clearly at the moment…Only of how fucking much his head was pounding.

"So, you said you're brother took you're favorite toy, eh?"

"Sure did…Yah' reminded me of how much that little shithead pissed me off…" He finished with a laugh, indicating he was kidding. Or was he?

"I say…Tomorrow, at your funeral? We corner him in the bathroom and kick his ass…"

This prompted a mighty laugh from the surprisingly now-jovial Norman. His face turned a bright red as his smile showed, and he had to catch himself from doubling over. Blake found himself smiling too, stopping the laugh from coming out full-force, but he had to admit his face hurt- it wasn't used to smiling so much around the former FBI agent from Washington. A man that, not so long ago at all, he wouldn't piss on if he was on fire.

"Good idea! He has it com'n…"

"I bet."

Blake covered his face with his hands, sighing as he struggled to keep his own eyes open. Blinking, he leaned forward and once again spied the side of Jayden's eyes, his little patient for the night, and tired to spy his pupils.

"Open your eyes again…"

Doing as told, Blake leaned in and looked as close as he could, and was glad to see they were still normal. He sighed in open relief, now he was confident the little bastard could lay down, and he'd feel relatively at ease. He spied the reddening, almost black bruise on his forehead, the white bandage seeping with dried blood as it began to finally clot. It was never like they showed in the movies, it was more brown then anything. The smell used to make him gag, but he very quickly developed a tolerance to it thanks to his work.

"Looks good. You in pain?"

Jerking a nod, he once again watched Blake take off again. This time it sounded as though he was rummaging through his cupboard above the kitchen sink. He had expected him to come back with an Aspirin or Tylenol, but instead re-appeared with a glass of water and an orange prescription bottle.

"Now, I got something here- you're not allergic to anything, are you?"

"Just cats…" He shrugged. "Why?"

"I mean in terms of _drugs_, you horse's ass." He spat.

"Oh- no, no…" An almost-excited yelp stated. "Is there-?"

"I've got some Percocet, here…" Holding up the bottle, he looked Norman right in his eyes. He wanted to make sure he wasn't going to abuse the things, not that he had any reason to believe he would. Drug addiction was something he was very aware of thanks to his profession. He trusted no one.

"Why do you have Percocet?" Jayden lightly questioned, trying to make conversation and not attempting to drool as he eyed the script in the man's hand.

"Last time I had a toothache, the dentist gave it to me. Now I keep it if I need it- you want one?"

"Sure." He tried not to sound too enthusiastic. "I need all the help I can get."

"That's for fucking certain…" Blake insulted, popping open the child-proof cap by cranking it down and off, then depositing a small white oval tablet in his outstretched palm.

Popping the palm back, he was able to throw it into his open mouth as he smacked the palm against his lips, taking the water he was offered and drank it all down. It wasn't Tripto, but a prescription medication of this strength was the closest he was going to get. Even if it may have been the ARI device he was technically addicted to in the first place, the lack of the device and being in the imaginary world replacing it, instead fueled his craving for the drug that sustained it. He only wished Percocet had hallucinogenic properties- but he'd certainly work with what he got.

'_Lieutenant Carter William Blake, sir, I love you.'_ He smirked jovially at the thought. Ah, he could get up and just hug 'n kiss him right now.

Here Blake had the ability to at least get him meds, and he could love him for it. All his years on the police force could drum up all sorts of pain, toothaches, gunshots…Maybe if he searched his medicine cabinet? Goddamn it! Why didn't he do it earlier when he had all the time in the world? Now it was all he could think about…

Blake held up his prescription bottle as he read it under the dim light. He hadn't taken any in forever, and couldn't remember the side effects.

"You'll probably get drowsy…Have to kick your ass off the couch in the morning…You might get the shits from this, too…"

Norman's eyes widened a little bit at those words- he didn't exactly need to lose control of his ass while sleeping in Blake's house…He'd rather die then live that embarrassment.

"Wh…What?" His reaction was delayed, one eye closed while the other remained opened.

Seeing his reaction, the Philadelphian laughed as his eyes shone towards the young man, his reaction priceless.

"Naw, just kidding…Actually, it constipates' ya. Have fun with all that…Now lay down- get some shut-eye. I wanna watch some TV before I pass out for the night."

Snorting, Jayden's suddenly tired body seemed perked up, now he wanted to converse with the apparently 'HIL-ARIOUS' cop who thought him having to run to the bathroom every ten minutes was just the funniest thing ever.

"Now I know why yah' always so pissah, Cartah…" He mused, his head lolling on a bendy neck as he laid down on the edge of the couch, exhaling with a nearly-contented sigh.

"I betcha haven't shit in _months."_

"If you're head wasn't broken wide open, I'd pop you one, _Jayden."_

"You angry 'cuz it's true?" A weak smile, a glare towards him from the other side of the couch, and Blake couldn't help but return the motion.

"What, you here to monitor my bathroom habits, now? I could let you watch if that's you're thing."

"Aw God, Blake, that's gross-"

"You're tell'n _me _what's gross? Look who's talk'n asshole, you were diggin' for buried treasure in my _ASS _earlier_."_

It killed him to bring it up, but for a moment it was worth it. He watched the nearly-sleeping Norman's face blush as he pulled up those lanky legs and brought them in towards his chest. His arms propped next to his face as he sought a more comfortable position, eyes closing as he let out a contented sigh.

"I found it, didn't I?"

'_Little son-of-a-whore…'_

Looking towards him only beheld a passed-out FBI agent from Washington on his couch. He was about to wake him up, but realized that wouldn't do him much good. What was he going to argue about? Of course it felt…Oddly arousing. Of course he wanted more of it, but of course…He'd never fully admit it. He was a grown, middle-aged straight cop from Philadelphia, a top police lieutenant on the homicide division. The last thing he'd ever expected to do was to find something attractive in 'that' lifestyle, one that used to disgust him and made a hilarious subject to ridicule with his other apparently straight friends. It was a reassurance in their own masculity, a settling of potential curiosities, a lifting of worries.

Carter's dark eyes drifted over the tender young man like an all-enveloping shadow. Taking in his appearance fully, something he had avoided the whole time working on the case. He wanted nothing to do with anything he presented, his whole _being _there a slap in the face as far as he was concerned. He'd see him from the corner of his eye, perpendicular and shadowing his shoulder like a vulture waiting to jump on his nasty habits. Now, however, in his weakest state, Jayden was just a downtrodden, weak young man. He had muscles, sure, but they were small and subtle, under worked and strained. His face had reddened from its formally pale state, his stubble coming in thick and nearly creating a beard that would mirror his own if he didn't tame it.

Jayden wasn't _that _much younger then him, yet his appearance and nature struck him more like the looks and behavior of a adolescent, and when he laid there, he couldn't help but be reminded of a child. He used to be like that as a boy; young and naïve. In fact the resemblance was beginning to frighten him. The way he tried to talk to his father, get him to open up more about his days in Vietnam, resulting in either courageous (bullshit) stories or plain silence or disdain- even anger. It was the anger in the end that always won out.

He looked innocent, free of wrongs and sins. Of course he knew that was far from the reality, yet it still seemed to rain true for the young, inexperienced agent. It pissed him off, as a simple look towards himself could note the scars across his face and body, his tired wrinkles and soured, bitter attitude towards life. To think, here was the man that found the Origami Killer, practically half his age with less experience…It wasn't right, this sleeping faggot had no right, barging in-

His thoughts escalated as he once again approached one of his mania swings, and suddenly felt grateful he had caused Jayden's injury, and he wondered if he'd ever remember. The blood on the carpet needed tending to, and after a frustrated, mutely-lighted cleanup session on his hands and knees, he found himself in the bathroom as he stripped, then took a shower.

The water cascaded down on him with a sort of relief, though he had to admit there was a lingering fear in the back of his brain about Jayden's state. If he slipped into a coma in the middle of the night, he could very well choke on his tongue and die…Again. That wouldn't be nearly as bad, he supposed, then being a vegetable for the rest of his life.

'_Check when you get out, don't let it bother you. Why you give a shit, who knows, but you do. But if he croaks it's __**your **__ass. It would be hard to hide the body. Finding two corpses of the same man would send the station into one hell of a circus. And I thought the OK case was bad.'_

A hand drifted his testicles as he thought about the young man, he wasn't even aware he was doing it. He had come to admire the youth's pristine, nearly flawless face, his smooth visage and curvy cheekbones. The way his toes curled when he laid down on his couch reminded him of a tight young girl flexing them as she came, his brown locks much like his first girl in high school…He still remembered they smelled of vanilla as he sunk his face into that lovely head of hair, grabbing her fiercely by the hips as he took her from behind, crying in unison as they mounted their peak…

Blake wasn't aware how fast he was stroking, how the unusual and forbidden, the exotic, suddenly became the erotic, the coveted, the desired. Taking a moment to wind a fingertip around the bottom of the head, he gave a manly grunt and snort at the intensity that surged through him- laying his head back as he put a hand behind him and stroked his ass, imagining it belonging to…God, who was it he was fucking himself to? Was it Jayden? Was it Tiffany? He found the image in his head flashing between them, and found it strange as well as desirable. This wasn't gay…Right?

Then came the desire to do what had happened earlier, and that finger drifted to between his buttocks as it rubbed the crevice. Instead of spurring it on it made him clench up, removing his hand from his cheeks and using it to instead stroke his testes, pulling them gently as he felt the pressure build.

His crotch muscles contracted as they expelled his seed. He bit his lip as he came with a low, satisfied groan, his face beating red as he tried to quickly get over the final act. In the very least, he told himself he tried his best to envision a woman instead of a man.

Pressing his palms into his eyes, he turned around as his head began to beat another frightful tattoo of pain. He let the water rain down on him again, reminding him of a far more pleasant version of the cold, horrid rain from outside. It relaxed him only a little, and after he made sure his seminal fluid was rinsed from the shower-stall drain, he shut off the tabs and stepped out.

'_Wouldn't it be great it you never touched those damn glasses? Or better yet…Norman never died- or simply never fucking showed up? How about if Scott never started killing children and their fathers? How about that?'_

What if a lot of things were different? Good God, he could do this all day.

Drying off, he gave a harsh, agitated sigh as he now lamented jerking off. Now he was extraordinarily tired, the ejaculation sapping his energy resources and telling him to get some much-needed sleep. He was about to grab his robe when he realized that it was being snuggled into by Agent Norman Jayden on his couch. Welp, he wouldn't be getting that back. Hafta get a new one.

Flinging a dry towel about his waist, he synched it and put the corner between the cloth and his waist, doing his damndest to cover his ass the best he could. If he got at there and Jayden was awake, it would have been one hell of a scene if he walked out naked. When he strolled into the living room, he sniffled as he noticed it was much colder now, and he shivered uncomfortably now that he only a towel to hide himself.

'_Shit, make it quick. Check on 'em and turn on the heat, then hit the sack. Fuck'n tired…'_

He did as his logic told him, crossing the room in wide steps as he investigated the still-living Jayden laying passed-out on his sofa. Out like a light, curled up the best he could as he visibly shivered from the cold. He had long guessed the brat was rather cold-blooded, always complaining about the rain and October chill.

'_Should get him a blanket or something- fuck! You're not his mother, his ass is cold? He can get it himself.'_

Blake almost went to the kitchen to take his pills, when he realized he had been out since Sunday, still forgetting to pick up his prescription at the local pharmacy. Fuck! He'd kill over at this rate, his high blood pressure had only gotten worse since the murders started up again. This whole affair with Norman was no doubt making it worse. He'd have to do it sometime tomorrow…He _had _to.

Instead he crossed the room and turned on the thermostat until the oil heater rumbled to life down below, and sighed when he went to plod aimlessly off to bed. A small coo interrupted this process, and was quite concerned over its source until the answer became quite apparent.

'_You know something, Norman? I have the half-of-a-mind to throw your baby ass into the cold.'_

Once again playing the motherly role, he quickly found the blanket from yesterday, cursing under his breath as he threw it on the young man, his body writhing in half-conscious relief as he tugged at it, and used it to cover his freezing body. Relief was almost instantaneous, watching him sigh in content as he rested his head back down and snuggled in.

Blake didn't want to watch the scene any more, the image from his masturbatory session still fresh in his head. It mirrored his actions on the couch, sweet and innocent, young and tender. Clean, submissive, in dire need of protection. It spurred masculine desire in his system, and he nearly just stopped himself from sitting down next to the other man, wanting to stroke that hair and kiss those ears- lick down that neck- and a stirring in his loins confused him half to death.

'_What am I __**DOING? **__This isn't me…I don't like men- I don't like __**him. **__Stop it, just __**stop it.**__ Go to sleep, think of tits, and…Go to sleep. Repeat. Like always. It's been what you've always done. It'll be what you do until he's long gone.'_

When would that be, though? How long would this last? Norman, that was? Would he simply evaporate away one day? Or was he here to stay?

He dressed into a clean pair of boxers as he slid into bed, the covers and sheets cold and biting at his skin, but within moments he felt the comforter holding in his body heat, creating a blanket of toasty warmth. His head pounded again, and despite being so tired before, he found himself unable to go right to sleep, his body too tense, head too busy.

In his dreams Carter knew he could do anything. Go anywhere, talk to anybody, fuck anybody, and do just about anything. The number of times he'd offed Jayden in an extremely satisfying manner in his dreams was a high number already. He told himself he wouldn't think of the fuckhead this time, but found his brain unable to cleanse itself of his overwhelming presence in his life.

Most of all, the image of the frightened, catatonic Jayden seemed to take over his thoughts. He had forgotten all about it, but remembered thinking, at the time, that the look he had on his face was akin to pure terror, of animalistic fervor. How those deer always looked before dad slit their throat. What in God's name did he see? Most of all, where was it? Jayden had gone off again somewhere, off to a place he had yet to describe. He wondered if he'd ever know.

What Blake didn't know was that Jayden had heard the massive dream-beast say something when it opened those jaws of immense despair; something he still didn't quite understand, but felt horrified all the same.

"_I'll swallow you up, boy. You and him, both."_


	14. The Norman Syndrome

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, sex between two men, (In later chapters.) Erections. Gore. Puke. **

Author's Note: **Wow. Woooooowwww. What. The. Fuck. Two months? TWO MONTHS until I last updated? What the fuck is my problem? Why can't I get my shit together? LOL.**

**What can I say? Work, fitness, social activities. Life is a whore of a mother. I really felt bad for taking so long, I hope I didn't lose any readership. :(**

**I need to address two troll 'reviews' that had since been deleted. I have a feeling these weren't really reviews so much as old enemies (or not-so-old, perhaps) trying to get back at me because they're too chickenshit to do so directly. Their troll nature was what made me delete them- as I have no problem with constructive criticism. I do, however, have a problem with douche-baggary. In which those douche-bags were far and away guilty of. Because of them, you can no longer leave anonymous reviews, at least for now. I do apologize to all my reviewers who did so anonymously- I really hope you're willing to sign up in order to review. It would mean a lot to me.**

**As for it's content, the main complaint was the Boston accent. True, I asked for feedback on NORMAN'S accent, which just so happened to be Bostonion. Yet I made no claims that this was an accurate one to the actual area. Every self-respecting HR fan knows that Norman's actor was a British man imitating a New England accent, and even so, it wasn't the best. But we think it's cute as fuck not to mention funny; so we let it slide. I am trying to replicate NORMAN. Not the average, run-of-the-mill Boston resident, jackass. Oh, and you said you were from Boston, which I call bullshit, but...in which case...Fuck the Patriots. :)**

**D'aaawww! But anyway, sorry that there's no real progression or sex in this chapter. I wanted to finish it and get it out A.S.A.P. I will once again tell you I will try even harder to get the next chapter out in a timely manner...Hopefully.**

* * *

**_"Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain and allow us to enjoy pleasure instead. We must therefore accept it without complaint when they sometimes collide with a bit of reality against which they are dashed to pieces." _**___-____Sigmund Freud_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

The gentle (yet loud) sound of a woman singing prodded him awake. Upon squinting at the red numbers on the alarm clock, he listened intently and found it to be, more specifically, a _Pretenders _song. _'Brass In Pocket'_; God he had some fond memories with that one.

Blake awoke with the typical morning wood hard-on, but knew that his dream had been intentionally un-sexual. He had done his best not to dream of Jayden, woman, or anything that may- if he crossed his eyes and squinted- have produced any sort of arousal. Instead, he let his subconscious take the reigns and some wacky, out-of-touch bullshit occurred he wasn't sure he remembered. Despite his best wishes, Jayden appeared. He was only, oddly enough, the conductor of a train. Not a modern one or anything, but the old-fashioned steam engine, sending tons of coal smoke into the air as it whistled down the tracks. Hell, Norm even had one of those big, puffy, mushroom-style hats. It was… interesting. Too wacky to be disturbing, though still not quite funny.

He remembered being a passenger in said train, and for some unholy reason, Ash was there making sexual advances on him. Thinking about it now, it was hilarious. But at the time, it scared him to hell and back knowing that Ash was trying to get into his pants every time he turned around...Or _didn't_ turn around. The craziest part was it didn't bother him nearly as much as the fact Ethan Mars was also there, sitting and staring into space in the seat across the aisle, holding a box of Fig Newtons and not even offering any! How rude was that?

Now that he thought about it, there was a disturbing lack of pussy in that dream. Since when did they become such sausage fests?

'_Since you turned into a fag, don't you remember?'_

No, no he _didn't. _He still very much enjoyed pouty lips, wide hips and nice tits. So what if he made a man suck his dick? So what if he kept having these weird-ass dreams? He shrugged it off as a mid-life crisis that reared its ugly head thanks to a recent shortage of female ass in his life. Blake knew all too well that he hadn't 'dated' a woman in years, a shambling array of one-night stands making up his 'romantic' life. After a while it almost got…boring.

The headache that had pulsed in his skull when he went to bed returned, though this time slightly lessened. He groaned as he once again pressed his palms into his eye sockets; '_I gotta take that Percocet.' _Blake mentally offered, but then quickly dashed the idea. It would make him insanely drowsy, and considering he had to partake in a long two to three hour drive down to D.C, he didn't think that made much sense.

'_Shit, better get moving.'_

Swinging his legs over the bed, he cracked his back and took his sweet time getting up. Last night he went to bed about 12:00, plenty of time to sleep, sure, yet his odd dreams and waking fears that Norman would slip into a coma in the middle of the night kept him up.

His concern for the younger man was not as caring as it would seem. It was rather like the fear of losing a newly-acquired pet, sure you kept the receipt, but you really liked this one. It had that spot on it's face, loved to sleep at the foot of the bed and everything. And damn, would it have sucked to have to go back to the store and get a new one. Such a hassle.

Shifting himself off the bed, he poked his head out of the bedroom door to make sure the younger dead man wasn't up and walking about already. Not a sound reached his ears; so he made his way out, stark-naked, into the bathroom, where he once again felt himself pissing like a fire hose, flushing the toilet loudly as he quickly washed his hands and departed into the laundry room to change.

When he got moving, he rushed to the dryer near the back door, and quickly managed to find some underwear and pants. The shirt Norman wore yesterday to the shop made up his top half, smiling weakly at the memory. Maybe it would break the mood here in the morning? No doubt his head would be hammering like a motherfucker. God knew he understood far and away what that felt like. Norman lay on the other side of that couch, dead or alive…

"Hey…crash! Time to wake up..."

He said it in a surprisingly normal tone of voice, knowing full well he wouldn't be able awaken that easy.

Instead, Norman was contorted into some odd position on his couch, legs stretched out as they lay hip-width apart, toes entangled with the blanket as it covered him partially. No doubt he'd gotten hot at some point in the night and shifted. His arms cuddled about the left of his cheek, face kissing the back of his hands as he lay twisted and snuggled against the couch sideways. He still appeared very much dead to the world, and Blake swore he saw drool on those hands as he breathed into them.

'_Yup, Percocet-induced sleep. Look what I did…Now I gotta baby-sit.'_

Looking up at his clock, he was glad to have given himself two full hours to get going this morning. He was given the time and place to meet down there, his GPS would do the rest. It was still early yet, it was dark out and he'd hoped the traffic would be non-existent for being a weekday.

Carter was going to be more then glad when this was all over, easily. This was going to be embarrassing, stressful, aggravating, not to mention frustrating and boring to say the _least. _He had formed a mental picture of how the trip was going to progress, and although he wasn't naïve enough to think it would all go according to plan, he was hoping that it wouldn't be anything like he was expecting, otherwise he'd just might use his gun on himself before the day was out.

Now he was wondering if he should let the deceased profiler sleep, or try to attempt to do the job himself. Devious thoughts arose, like dumping water or some other less friendly liquid on his face, except he'd really rather not fuck up his couch. So no, the half-second of contemplating giving dear little Norm an early morning golden shower was dashed before it could be made a reality.

Instead, he turned on the TV and caught the last few minutes of some shitty infomercial for a food-cutting device, the pitchman extremely excited to be showing him this device, apparently. Then he switched it to some early morning news, cranking it up to being uncomfortably loud for any normally slumbering person. Throwing the remote onto the still-sleeping agent, he turned around and walked towards the kitchen again. Carter dumped out his old filter and put in a new one, throwing in the ground coffee and locking it tight. Some water in a cup made the rest of the recipe, and he had to remind himself he was making coffee for two…Something he swore he hadn't done in ages- then pouring them both some coffee but only putting sugar and creamer in his own.

A progression, an evolution of sorts was occurring before their very eyes. Both noticed it, but neither admitted it to themselves, let alone one another. They had grown to easily accept one another's company, and in some sick way, became dependent for it. Blake needed to 'care for' Jayden, and Jayden needed to please Blake. It was a business, a professional relationship, though not really in a sexual union. Even if Jayden's actions towards the man he previously worked with were sexual in _nature_, there was little to no passion behind them. He had become a prostitute, and it was something even he would have to admit if ever caught. Cock-sucking on Blake's whim.

So, Blake poured the little shit his coffee, but that was as far as he went. Getting out the sugar and creamer, he made himself a rich, sweet cup of java, and sat down on the couch next to Jayden's feet. He gave himself a good couple inches away from his large toe-nailed digits, glancing at him in disgust as he looked back up towards the news. It was simply the best place on the couch to watch TV, and the way he saw it…Fucker shouldn't even be there, he had every right to sit there and watch TV, and if Norman got in the way, so be it.

The world news showcased more fights in the Middle East, trouble with the war in Afghanistan and in general more bullshit rumblings about the election next year. Christ, did he ever hate politics, it fucked up the world and it especially fucked up his job. Anything that got in the way of his profession, his way of life, was immediately vilified and targeted for destruction. Though in this case, writhing hate shifting to the perhaps bearable distaste was as close as he was going to get.

It was then when Carter felt those little toes stretch out, the other man's legs extending as he reached that foot back, laying it atop the cop's lap and making him stiffen in response, nearly causing him to spill his coffee. Jayden grumbled in satisfaction as he made himself more comfortable, then settled back down to sleep for another apparent eight hours straight.

His lip reacted first, curling up in a snarl as his eyes narrowed, rage unfurling as his personal space had just been invaded. He interpreted it more as a threat then an innocent act, and in response he grabbed the foot, throwing it rudely back towards Norm's torso as he made a surprise groan (that sounded more like a moan) as he was pushed partially up the couch because of it.

"Hey _queer! _Get up already!" He gave the man a good-ol' fashioned smack in his ass as he yelled, mouth still in a sneer as his chest puffed out. Jayden made another noise similar to the first, back arching as his arms lifted him from the couch, albeit slowly, shaking as his closed eyes, plastered shut with dried mucus, failed to open right away- all he could do was wobble side to side. "Happy funeral day! You're the star of the show!"

"_I'vshhlll- _Wut-I…Huh? I…Did you sssssmack my backside? I…whatshhhll-tired…"

Norman had just been awaken from one of the most deep, calming, absolutely satisfying sleeps he'd ever had. Well, before he got involved with the FBI, ARI and Triptocaine, that is. The glasses and drugs had an effect of inducing sleeplessness, keeping the brain too active for him to fall asleep, at least completely. Triptocaine wasn't any better, the calming effect it had still causing his brain neurons to constantly fire, virtually forcing his brain to overwork before getting it to cool down.

No doubt, the Percocet had numbed those very same urges and thoughts, pretty much knocking him out. A puddle of drool had apparently formed beneath his mouth, sinking into the leather- and he knew this because when his head went back down, he could feel the lovely substance on his cheek. Wonderful.

His confusion and slurred words were no act, despite the fact that he would have loved nothing more then to face-plant right back down and sleep until the fine drug rampaging through his system wore off- No doubt it would continue to take forever to finally be metabolized by his system, quite unlike Triptocaine which could do so amazingly fast.

He had awoken in shock, feeling nothing but a painful sting on his ass as the sensation throbbed, and words being yelled loudly in his direction. Shit, who was that? It sounded like…Flake? Snake? What was…Blake! That's it…He was in Blake's house. Wait a minute- why? How- oh, that's right…Fuck.

Memories came flying back, like shots from a gun's muzzle- sharp, loud and frightening, and his body chilled with the reminders of what he'd done. Not just in general, but to the man he had disliked from day one. Norman himself was a very forgiving man, he had wanted to work with Blake, wanted it all in his heart to just get along and solve this case with one another's help, even after their arguments rattled the whole police squad.

Then he had stooped to performing sexual favors for the older 'gentleman'…Two accounts of falatio, and a fingering of his ass. Something that, if he had known he would be performing when he first met the man, he would have been aghast to wonder how he could even get that close without having his face and hand bit off.

Of course, as he opened those sleepy eyes, reaching up to rub off the caked-on mucus and blink away the tired ruminants of his slumber, he caught that very same belligerent, frustrated, tired, and generally impatient face looking down at him. The very same face of the man he'd pleasured with his tongue and fingers, and at that memory a slight stirring of his slightly erect organ made him curious- was it instinct at this point? All men had erections, waking or waning, during dreams. He was no different, and his own strained against the robe a little as he shifted about to hide it from the older man. His helper, his captor, his keeper, his master.

"Well good morning, star shine! The Earth says hello…"

The taller man on his couch seemed bewildered in general, crustiness about his eyes as he looked up blearily, his eyelids fluttering, those oddly long eyelashes blinking at him with a sort of dazed wonder.

"Cartah?"

"Noooorman?" He replied, sarcastic, his tone aggravated.

He watched as he tried to get up again, yet fell back to the couch, releasing a dull "huff" as he hit the solid fabric. Watching his hips shift, he knew all too well from experience what he was trying to hide under those covers.

"Got some morning wood there, FBI?"

His body- not his cock- stiffened at this statement, but already knew his cover was blown. A shot of pink later, his face burned from embarrassment as he swallowed to wet his dry throat.

Jayden knew he could play this a couple ways, and quickly analyzed the potential to say either one. He could be a smart-ass, or he could be serious- hell, he could even be a dick about it. Although with Blake, he knew that no matter what he said, it wouldn't be taken very well.

That was until, he went to move to sit up, and one of his feet brushed against the older man's lap, and felt a very recognizable sensation poking him. It made his stomach bottom out and mouth go dry- it felt so powerful under even the thickly-skinned sole of his foot.

"Seems 'weh both do."

Now, the agent couldn't see much, but he could recognize the sort of blushing anger that shot through the older man as he darted up from the couch, cursing something horrible as he appeared to make his way to the bathroom. Norman couldn't help but grin madly in victory, even with the devastating pulsing in his head.

Blake retreated into the bathroom, presumably to rub one out. Meanwhile, Jayden found himself going into a relaxed state, and having the less-strong erection disappear on its own. He gingerly moved out of his makeshift bed, wincing in pain as a shot riveted through his brain, pulsing in his head from his temples. It was similar to the sensation of first using ARI, and for a moment considered if it was really caused by it, or something else entirely. One of the many injuries he'd acquired working on the case that killed him, perhaps?

Almost as a second instinct, Norman's shaky vision concentrated on the small bottle of Percocet still remaining on the coffee table, and reached for it in earnest. His heart almost immediately started pounding, concerned that Carter would come back and see him downing his medication without his permission. Really, though, what else was he going to use it for? He probably wouldn't be too concerned with it- So he got up, clasping the orange vial as he quickly made his way towards the kitchen sink to fetch some water.

It almost frightened him with the ease of how quickly he was beginning to learn the lay-out of Blake's home. He watched several times as he got glasses from his cabinet, and did just that as he pulled out a stout glass and poured himself a cool glass of water. Quickly, he popped another pill, hoping that it wouldn't make him too drowsy. He needed to make sure the lieutenant went ahead with their deal. He didn't know if he'd ever trust the man enough to do as he asked.

He nervously choked on some water as the man departed the bathroom, clearing his throat as he saw Jayden standing there with his back to him, only seeing a messy head of brown hair and a dark blue robe that was a size too big. It oddly looked huge on him despite their small difference in width.

"Finally! Thought 'I'd have to kick 'yer ass off the couch."

Norman wasn't honestly in the mood to respond, and instead just yawned wide, his eyes closing as he braced his hands on the countertop.

"…Lik'n those, druggie?"

Luckily enough, Norman had detected a half-joking tone in the lieutenant's voice. Still, his heart hammered through his ears, and he shrugged as he tried to put off the comment. He was still far too out of it, head swirling and body strung out like he'd just been pulled apart by a team of horses.

"Th…tha'h work'n…Well…"

"What?"

"The'h work'n! Feel…Bettah." Norman winced as he heard himself- Christ, he sounded drunk!

Blake spied the prescription bottle loosely inside the man's fist. It wasn't until then that he noticed a slight shake to his hand, one that mirrored the odd behavior he displayed at work yesterday. Wheels and gears turned in his head, but he'd be lying if he said he wanted to question it at that moment. He needed Jayden alert right now, he had to change and get some more food in both their stomachs so their asses could leave before traffic got bad on I-95. Though he supposed it being a weekday had something on his side.

"Really? You're doin' better already?" His tone was not so much concerned as much as it was curious. That was a big fucking spill he took- Blake had assumed he would be sore for days.

He watched as Norman seemed to be having problems with the coffee maker, his eyes squinting horribly as he yawned wide again, eyes resting shut as he used his fingers to try and find some invisible buttons. It wasn't going to happen. He seemed to apparently, completely, absolutely, miss the fact that a cup of coffee was already sitting right there in front of him.

"You, uh…Want some coffee, I'm guessing?"

"Yesh- yes please, thank you…"

Rudely pushing the injured Norman out of the way, he ignored his almost devastating stumble as he scooted in front of the java machine.

"Go sit back down."

"Naw, if I do…I'll fall asleep."

"Fine by me, I'll just wake your ass back up again."

Paying him no further heed, he focused on the task at hand. Norman must have been trying to use his coffee maker like it was his own, because Blake's sure as hell didn't have as many buttons as he was trying to find. It was quite an unusual morning for both of them. Norman didn't have the energy or desire to speak to Carter, not because he was angry, but because he really didn't know what to say. What the man had done for him last night was…Not becoming of his character. Did the mad police lieutenant actually give a shit about him? The concept boggled him to no end. Not very long ago, he thought it impossible for Blake to care about anyone.

There had been a long, long time since either had a morning like this. One full of such vigor and excitement, two members of the household busying about while plates clambered, the smell of coffee perpetuated, and the TV blared with it's morning news. Jayden shuffled about in a zombie walk as he got back up, hearing Blake start to sizzle some eggs in a pan.

"What …Uh…Whatcha mak'n?"

Looking up from his yawn, Blake could notice the inability of his young colleague to keep his eyes open; looking at him through some sort of ultra-squint he'd never seen from him before.

"…The fuck you think I'm makin? I know you can't see but you sure as shit can smell, can't you?"

"Eggs?"

"Well look at that, Agent _Norman _Jayden solved another case! You're _really_ on a roll, you know that?"

Normally, Jayden would have found himself highly offended and would find a way to get back at the older man, be it yelling his brains out, or simply letting him now how much of an asshole he was being. A combination of his own easily agitated nature cocktailed along with his withdrawals would have sent him into a possible chair-flinging rage.

This time? He simply nodded, went "Mmmm-hmmm…" And shuffled out of the room back to the couch.

Blake watched the sad display, and felt somewhat let down by the missed conflict. Though, he also felt…Well, great, that his little house guest had walked away, and let him to prepare breakfast by himself. It wasn't until he finished cooking, got his plate and walked over to the kitchen table to eat; that he realized he had forgot to make Jayden something. He had been making meals for himself for years, why would today be any different?

Except it was _very_ different. He had a dead man in his house that somehow needed feeding. One that needed feeding of _large _amounts, and if this behavior continued, these moments of binge-eating for both of them would eat them out of house and home. It would break him financially if not mentally. Send him into bankruptcy if this escaladed- where would it stop? Where _could _it stop? At what point could he technically be killed by theses mass consumptions? The scary thing was he hadn't a fucking clue.

Today was also a day he was going to attend the funeral of a man he despised from day one, not to mention that very same man he was now feeding, housing, and even nursing. All for what? Good head? Money? He really hoped this investment would start paying off.

Except that wasn't it. It wasn't just the fellatio and soon-to-be payoff. There was something else…Blake was curious, extremely so, and found himself enthralled with this mystery. A fucking agent he had just met came back from the dead. That wasn't something that happened every day. To anyone. This was…fascinating. He could safely say this was something he'd never come close to experiencing, after all the murders, all the conflicts, the rapes, the blood, the smells, sights, sounds- after his whole life, a trivial thing in itself- this actually came to surprise and even enthrall him. Even if there was a hidden nervousness brewing underneath, an almost-fear. He had hoped he wasn't secretly going insane.

Jayden very drearily began to wake up, he tried very hard to remember his dream, as for some reason they had been getting tamer ever since he died and "came back". Then of course, a drug-induced sleep such as that were often dreamless, it had made him practically comatose, perhaps his brain was even too tired to try and fathom something interesting. He felt incredibly uncomfortable over what happened last night, having Blake care for him like a common patient in a psych ward- God only knew he'd seen the insides of those enough times to last him several lifetimes.

Then he smelled eggs, glorious, pungent eggs. It very well could have been filet mingon- or hell, the aroma of freshly acquired Triptocaine, straight from the labs. He'd never forget that fine smell the days he received his rations. He'd show up with his card, go through the security briefings, sign, then get a new briefcase. Inside was a hard plastic interior with internally plastic molded racks. The tiny blue vials stacked end-to-end. It would smell much like the scent of a new magazine- hot off the presses. He supposed it was a mixture of the chemicals used as well as the plastic, spongy things that lined the inside, protecting the glass vials from injury. Either way, it left his mouth watering.

Food had become a rather newly discovered love for him. Before, he ate to live, not lived to eat. It wasn't a true pleasure for him as much as it was a need. Now he found himself overcome with cravings that were unknown to him, desiring unusual food combinations, suddenly finding himself wanting to try bizarre things, things that normally would disgust him- almost expecting their taste and texture before he even took a bite. He wanted to try squid, maybe- pickles with peanut butter, olives, maybe pizza with caviar and anchovies- oh! Ice cream! God he wanted some ice cream-

His stomach rumbled now that his mind lurched towards the smell. Deep down, he had hoped secretly that Blake would continue his nursing ways and would serve him the eggs. After all, it was obvious he wasn't in good shape, still. His head thud and it hurt to walk, every movement bringing a rush of agony on up through his steps.

Yet that was a very small side of him, one he didn't truly want to use. Of course he didn't want that, not at all. Blake to serve him, that was- the food, of course, he could devour that entirely, that he didn't get but- he needed, _wanted _Blake to leave him alone as much as possible. This situation had already gotten awkward enough, and the closer he got to the older man, the more wanted to push him away. The further the better.

He forced himself to stand up, groaning openly as he did so. It was quite the task, and he found himself swaying with every step as he moved towards the kitchen, shuffling like a seventy-year-old retiree towards his destination-

Peering into the pan, he could barely believe it. His own hand held him up away from the stove, just narrowly missing the hot burners and instead squinted safely into the skillet. An _empty_ skillet, the only thing remaining some scrapped remains of eggs long eaten.

"You son of a _bitch_!" Norman fired off, turning around the best he could in his diminished state.

Blake had to stop himself from choking on the last bit of eggs as it went down. He coughed a little, wiped the orange juice from his mouth that he was in the midst of drinking, and swallowed the best he could.

"-What's your fuckin' problem _now, _Norman?"

Jayden balanced himself the best he could with one arm on the counter, squinting towards that twisted, selfish prick.

"I made you dinn'ah last night, and 'yah couldn't even save me any goddam'hm eggs?"

"Fuckn' _asshole_!" Blake exploded, yet kept his seat this time. "You got some nerve, talkn' to me like that-"

"_I _got 'sum nerve?" He had to stop, his head hammering away as he raised his voice. His hand flew to his forehead, holding it in a sort of death embrace, as though his hands could magically stroke away the pain.

"You could have at least asked me if I wanted an'ah! I'm starving, too, yah know!"

"Oh, I see how it works…" Blake stood up, and Jayden now noticed that he had been reading the paper. Shit! When did he go out to get that? He was so out of it, he never heard a door open.

"_You _want to be fed. Oh, okay, okay- I see what you're getting at. Want me to wipe your ass, too?"

Jayden nearly said "sure!" but decided being a smartass wasn't the best way to go this morning. Instead he took another step towards the older man, coming very close to his face- enough to smell his eggy breath and glance at the fine scars that lined his aged skin. It made him shudder, but it seemed to work in making him stand down so far. He made direct eye contact, and despite their own blood-shot, squinting nature, he did his best not to crack under the pressure of that devilish stare. Eye contact had an immense amount to do with human nature, he found. The simple act of looking into one's eyes could determine dominance and submission alike. Other primates like gorillas found it threatening; one usually looked away eventually-

"You know someth'n, Cartah…" He tried to get out, lips quivering as he searched for the words. For a couple seconds he had something there, something perfect, but…Shit! He couldn't get it out…

Blake's hand rested on the table as he slowly breathed, concentrated on the sneer and stare he was giving the younger man. For some reason, he was uncomfortably close- staring right at him. Something about that faggot just dug right under his skin, and although the hatred had lessened, part of it always rose to the surface. Right now he just noticed those grey-blue eyes of his, locked onto his own. It felt like he was being analyzed more then looked at.

"Got someth'n to say to me? Or do you just think my eyes are pretty?" Norman could feel the specks of egg being spat out, hitting his face. _Gross. _"Queer." Blake finished.

As expected, Norman looked away, and he inwardly cursed at himself when he realized he had submitted. _Now I got egg on my face, literally. _He pushed away from the counter and made his way towards the bathroom. He opened the door and slammed it shut, hurrying to clean the just-chewed food from his face.

"Pussied out like always, Norm, huh?" He heard that prick yell from his position in the kitchen.

"Didn't think you had it in 'yah to try and hit me again!"

Of course. Yeah, he had nailed Blake in the nose, once. It wasn't planned, it more or less sort of…happened. He could remember very distinctly catching himself from doing it- right _after _the fact. Christ, if Blake hadn't been such a total asshole…_and _pulled a gun on him, he just might have begged for his forgiveness. The thrown punch wasn't very becoming of him, totally out of his character…And once again he blamed the drugs for its effect on his mental state.

The mood swings were from the ARI and Tripto withdrawals, he knew…Or at least, he _thought _he knew. Norman was always looked upon as a polite, calm, well-behaved gentleman. Yet few would ever suspect that he could explode just as nastily as Carter when the conditions were right- and the problem was, because Norman _was _Norman, nobody would expect it. Like the tame tiger that snaps after years in captivity.

He counting backwards in his head as he washed his face, trying to think back to all the years he'd tried to contain those little boughts of suppressed rage. In grade and middle school, he was the quiet boy nobody really paid much mind to. Not so suspicious someone could see him being the next potential Unabomber, but he sure as hell wasn't the class clown, either. One time, a very _prominent_ time, he was in a fight. The other kid wasn't even that much bigger then him, and he very nearly may have been beaten to hell and back had not a teacher intervened. The issue was moot as to its cause; he just remembered it had something to do with the kid being a little shithead, getting on his last nerve…He lost it, in a big way.

Norman took a piss break before he left the bathroom, though in a way he'd rather just stay in the small, plain and oddly-smelling room then venture out to deal with the home's nasty inhabitant. He swore, it was like walking into an animal's cave. He was shocked there wasn't bones strewn about and huge stalagmites attached to the walls- and Blake being the cave's huge, nasty beast that preyed on young virgin maidens. The cartoonist image was enough to quell his mood and bring him back into the home's living area.

Now he spied the older man sitting on his couch, yet leaning forward as to listen to the TV intently. He could tell there was something pressing on the news, so he let him be and instead prepared his coffee, apparently already poured, so all he had to do was add a few packets of sugar. It tasted rather good; he supposed he could give Blake the credit of at least being able to brew a nice pot of coffee.

Holding the mug, he carefully strolled forward. Checking the time on the wall, he wondered what exactly was the hour they were supposed to leave- it was still dark outside. It brought back sad memories of the first day of the Origami Killer case, when he left early in the morning, the sky dark and the air cold. Jogging outside to his parked car on the city street, steaming cup of coffee in his hand. Too bad he didn't decide to bring his own coffee along with him- it ended up being just as hard to find in Philly as his partner's civility.

It wasn't his intent to stop at the Pennsylvania rest stop the minute he entered the state- but his bladder told him otherwise. He had slugged that coffee down in record time. It was then when he chucked the Styrofoam cup, and caught a glimpse of the sun…that is, the sun _not _peaking through the clouds. It had begun raining heavily mere minutes away from the PA state border, and those associations made him want to forever hate the keystone state.

"There's cereal in the pantry." He jolted at hearing Blake's voice, its tone was irritated.

"Help yourself."

"_He sounded…uninterested. Wond'ah what's on the news?"_

Yet he didn't let himself drift over there to find out, and instead moved over to what he had quickly learned was indeed the pantry. He opened the doors and peered inside, finding two boxes of cereal sitting there in the odd-smelling space. It was like a hint of the aroma of metals sitting in a room for too long, plus yeast. He grabbed them- bringing both boxes up to decide as the light was horrible down there.

Wow, nice selection…There was something that very obviously some sort of Corn Pops knockoff, and instead cheerfully described itself as "CORN YUMMYS!" Well, he supposed it _was_ yummy…And perhaps, also, made of corn. At least it was accurate, even if tacky. Then there was…Cookie Crisp.

Cookie. Fucking. Crisp. How old was Carter, again?

Jayden made a career out of getting inside people's heads. Analyzing someone's life and motives based on a few scant clues. He gleamed on these few factors more from books and his education then from actual experience, which he would admit to having little of. He'd still managed to put over thirty-two criminals to justice, took them off the street and into the system to be processed by the federal government.

But shit- he couldn't figure this guy out. Cookie Crisp? He figured the older man would be eating fiber for his undoughtably tight-assed attitude and behavior. A joke of course, but few things about his instinct for this man were proving right. When he met him on that pitiless wasteland a few days ago, he immediately got some strange, stand-offish vibes from the lieutenant. Since then, he was never able to predict his next move; despite the fact that he made a career on this very concept.

Cookie Crisp? _Really?_

Fine. Whatever. He obviously didn't know enough about his partner (would they still be considered partners, he wondered?) to make such assumptions. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much- it was a fucking box of children's cereal in a middle-aged cop's home. That smiling wolf-dog cartoon thing on the box seemed to mock his profession and knowledge combined. It mocked his whole fucking life.

Needless to say, he was going to try the "Corn Yummys"; it couldn't be so bad, right? He popped open the slightly-opened bag and poured the yellow puffs into the bowl, the sound louder then expected and jarring his slightly asleep state almost fully awake. The pain from last night's little episode was numbed effectively by the drugs, not to mention the cravings for Tripto. There were times when he still desired putting on the ARI glasses like old times, until the facts made themselves very clear by the spectacles sitting there on the counter, placed there by their _new_ user, Lieutenant Blake.

He poured the 1% milk into the bowl, hearing it pop slightly upon contact. For a few daring moments he searched for a spoon and plopped it right in. He took a seat at the small table Blake had visited earlier, pulling out the opposite chair and sat as gingerly down as he could, treating his body like the tender, injured and fragile thing it was. The house was also eerily silent save for the news- and the last thing he wanted to do was arouse the other man's interest.

So his breakfast was silent, the owner of said residence was just as quiet as he watched the broadcast. He finished quickly, scooping and the last bit of cereal from his bowl, drinking the milk unabashed like a nine-year-old and plopped the dirty dishes in the sink. The young man then trotted out, the blue robe that smelled slightly like Blake around him was barely clinging on, so he synched it closer and shuffled towards the couch.

"Uh…I'm done…We should probably…You know, get ready?" He scratched the back of his neck nervously, he felt like some teenager asking a girl out to the prom.

Blake looked back up towards the agent with that sort of careless attitude, and Jayden watched him with some apprehension, he seemed distant, somehow. It seemed quite oddly like their first day, when he arrived to talk to Blake about the case. He was doing some sort of computer work, seemed quite engrossed and distracted, but mostly irritated that he was bothered.

"Yeah, I know." He muttered, not appearing so much angry as much as he was just without regard. "Watch'n this right now…"

Jayden looked up, seeing the reporter on the scene of what appeared to be a recent murder. He suddenly became instantly enamored, and took a cautious seat on the far side of the lieutenant. The screen painted a sad picture of a mourning family with police swarming the scene of a small, impoverished slum of a house. Homes on either side pressing closely against it, indicating it was a cheap row home. It's grey, depressing exterior looked to have not been painted, or even attended to in a multitude of years- the red and blue lights flashing around as it reflected brightly on that dull house, showing it more color then it's seen in years.

"_Police on the scene were unable to tell us what exactly occurred here last night, only that young Marissa Omeriz was killed inside her own home last night. Her mother in father were both home at the time and reported that a gunshot was fired off sometime around 2am nearby-"_

"Stray bullet." Blake sighed.

"…What?" Jayden's reaction was just a touch delayed, the news reporter's voice barely blocking out the lieutenant's.

"Shit, I see this all the time- don't even need to look at the parents, they didn't do shit. If they did it would have been the father- and he'd be long gone by now…Bet they didn't check on her until this morning- found her dead. They should have found the bullet hole already, just not say'n it yet."

Norman oddly enough found himself at a loss for words. He sat back a little and absorbed the information, and Carter found himself briefly glancing over towards the younger man as he sat there, bewildered at his words. He knew full well that Norman didn't respect him like he should- no doubt his demeanor wasn't very welcoming from the start, for good reason. Though he hadn't been expecting the FBI agent they sent to be this young, this inexperienced, this…Christ, what was the word? Something about Norman that always threw him off…Pompous? Arrogant? No, that wasn't quite it…Spaced out? That was more like it. Withdrawn. Touchy.

"Yeah…Yeah, I suppose…That makes sense."

"Oh? Don't have any theories there, Perry Mason?" He ridiculed, recalling an old fictional character to throw back in the younger man's face.

"I was g'hanna say, maybe check into-"

"Fuck no!" Blake sounded mad this time, positively enraged.

"That area's one big fuck'n drug dealin' shit hole. Shots go off over there like fireworks on the fourth of fuck'n July every night! That's one of the worst areas in the city, pull bodies out of there every couple nights…But nah, cuz it's a little girl, it gets reported- not some drug dealin' waste of space. You just wait, that's what it'll be. Stray. Fuck'n. Bullet."

It would have been in Norman's nature to flip out, to lose it- tell Blake that everybody should be investigated to the full ability of the law…_Correctly. _No beat-downs, no bullshit. It made him antsy to jump away from his 'dead' state and fly into some sort of super-hero role, cleaning the massive city up one man at a time.

Another announcement on the TV screen shut him up. One of the news anchors read off two other murders from her teleprompter, two women raped and killed in Fairmont Park. She barely stopped before she also announced a break-in gone wrong as the family inside was beaten half to death, then another of a man horribly injured and close to death after he was stabbed getting into his car near the Liberty Bell.

'_Yikes.' _Norman's thoughts collected. _'Bad day for crime-'_

"That's it? Shit- slow news day. No wonder why I didn't get any calls…"

Blake's words were sour to the agent's ears, and he turned to look at the older man with his wrinkled forehead pursing as he did that squint thing again-

"I'm sah'ry?"

"Slow day back at the office- good, won't have that much to clean up when I get _back,_ tomorrow."

Norman had to stop for a second and analyze that. Just for one goddamned second- no, more then that…What did he just say? 'Slow news day'?

Sure, the crime in Washington could get downright horrible. The slums were of course especially bad, but this? This was _horrible_. He was always told that the crime in Philadelphia was bad. Seeing as he never had to go there, he paid it little attention until now.

"Why do you say that? At least three people are dead-"

"This city averages about two murders a day, Norman." He breathed out, and Norman could have sworn he almost heard a laugh.

"This is about…Average. Okay, I'll give you this…It's not _slow_, but it's average…At best."

"You're tell'n me this is normal around here?" He asked, and couldn't help but sound astonished.

Blake gave him a vexed expression as his dark eyes gazed back form under those heavy eyebrow ridges- it was a look Jayden recalled well- he was being analyzed, evaluated, just like a criminal on the street. He felt no better then one at that moment.

"Things have gotten better; it used to be much _worse_." The last word was spoken with a sort of dripping venom, sounding to be laced with something to the effect of either Cyanide or perhaps a terrible Strychnine coursing through his veins. As it was, it felt like they were on fire. Like the 'antichrist's' glare was eating him inside out.

"I thought you went to college, Norm? You didn't know this is one of the most crime-ridden cities in the _country_? The unemployment keeps rising, so does the poverty line- the gun laws don't do _shit _to stop anything- there's drugs fuck'n _everywhere_…"

"I didn't think it was this bad, no…" Jayden confessed; "I'm sawry."

"About _what?" _Blake got slightly irritated.

"That…I didn't pay more attention, I guess? " He submitted, then raised his eyes to meet the frustrated man, whose gaze had softened only slightly.

"I guess you got your work cut out for you…"

A slight smirk tugged at the older man's lip, but he didn't dare let it spread too far. Was Norman finally starting to understand the sort of bullshit he had to put up with practically every waking second of the day? There wasn't a moment's time when he wasn't busy, even time off was stressful, like today. All those murders and general assaults were going to be handled by someone else today- who it was, he wasn't sure. There was this fat son of a bitch lieutenant from the precinct in the next county that filled in for emergencies- seeing as both Ash and Perry would be gone for the day. He swore to God, if he ate _any _of his candy bars in his lower drawer again…Some shit was gonna go down when he got there.

The crime in this area was nearly inescapable. Luckily, he didn't have to tend to the whole city. His wasn't even the worst part of the district, Lieutenant Hempsville took care of that area of the town, and he was half-decent at it. He'd only met the guy a couple times; they had very similar ideals so they got along well. He was at least glad he didn't fucking work for Camden- Christ almighty- what a hopeless cause that place was.

Yet that wasn't the point at all. As long as he could remember, the place was littered with poverty and unemployment, racial tensions along with coked-up desperation contributed to one of the dirtiest, unpleasant cities in the country. When his family picked up and moved to the city years ago, his sister was robbed coming home from a grocery run. It enraged him to no end; he got in his car and cruised the streets. He found some little shit bragging on a street corner and beat him senseless. It would have worked perfectly- if the guy's friends never came back with guns.

It was his first real encounter with crime. Where he lived before, the only horrors he'd ever come across took place in his own home. Trips to the city were limited to shopping areas and historical sites, he'd remembered seeing the huge buildings for the first time, and felt positively in awe at the change of scenery. Filled with a sort of overwhelming amazement over the capabilities of mankind. The fountains with their many-faced intricacies and sculptured glory, the shining windows of skyscrapers, the wisdom displayed in the faces of statues of men long dead.

That was then, this was now.

Now he struggled working in the city's poorer district, most of the crime took place away from the city's tourism areas, past to where the smokestacks belched smog into the air and dirtied the skies. Where people were afraid to walk the streets in the day, but especially so at night. Where a man could be shot and left for dead, and Blake had to pick up all the pieces and put them together again like Humpty-fucking-dumpty. Except him and all the king's horses and all the king's men had to find the perputer, and that man was probably killed for just the Rolex on his wrist, the colors he must have been wearing, or the even color of his skin, what God he prayed to, if any at all. The skies were all too often grey and pregnant with rain or snow- the chill in the air almost constant for all but the warmest of months.

How many bodies has he seen, he wondered? Enough to stop giving a shit, he knew that. Bodies didn't disturb him anymore, the pallid, lifeless hunks of meat with the browning, dirty blood smeared just about everywhere. The thing with dried blood was that it stuck to the bottom of your shoes, almost like soda - it had a way of getting everywhere. It smelled like iron, and you could taste it you smelled or inhaled the air. The smell itself no longer disgusted him, much like an animal hoarder grows used to the stench of feces; his nose no longer recognized the revolting stench of a recently dead body. Nothing that a tissue held to his face couldn't fix, the show had to go on.

It always played out the same, it seemed. Nobody sees anything, the populace too afraid to act or speak out in fear of retaliation by the city's crime groups. He knew them all by heart anymore, the Italian, Jewish and Black mafias, the Polish, the Spanish Kings- and if it wasn't that, it was simple carelessness. Why would someone start trouble if they didn't need to? He quickly and effectively took to beating to get it out of some so-called "tight-lipped" witnesses and suspects. Worked like a charm, it always did…

"I do my _job. __Norman…_" He simply stated.

"…Every day, I do my fuck'n _job_."

Norman wasn't sure what to make of that statement; it seemed to be partly irritated, but also part acknowledgement.

"I uh…I understand…" He did his best to sound genuine.

In the back of the young man's mind, he did his best to keep his tongue in check. The thing to do, and he _knew _it, was to speak up about Blake beating both the psychiatrist and Mr. Mars himself. It would have, indeed, been the right thing to do. Just like it was stopping him both times. Try as he might, however, he couldn't find a rational reason why. What would it solve, really? Sure, it writhed under his skin like an itch he couldn't scratch, bothered the fuck out of him. But now? Now wasn't the time. Not at such a tender time in their…Relationship? Strictly professional, of course.

When Norman first met the older man sitting across from him, his impression had indeed been that Blake was just an old-school copper. That impression had indeed been correct, though at least Blake was willing to use modern technology to its very best, as long as he was in charge of it, anyway. He'd never forget the ire and agony he felt at watching those men trampling evidence into the ground at the crime scene, and at the mention of it, Blake turned very defensive. As if he'd known it was coming.

'_Wonder if he evah had to work with the FBI before me?'_

He held off on that question, and instead focused on one that had been niggling him for quite some time, hoping it didn't cause any new tension.

"How's the case? Mak'n any headway?"

Carter glanced over, but didn't make eye contact with the agent sitting at his side, but instead leaned back as he began to drone off like he was back in the precinct, discussing the case with any set of coworkers that happened to wonder by.

"We have a lot that needs wrapped up, that's about it. Lot of runn'n around, paperwork, playing politics. All the laws protecting these fuck'n criminals makes things so much more of a pain in the _ass_. One more hoop I'd have to go through and I swear I'd rather just hang the fuckers like they did back in the day."

Norman felt a sting- that was always a sensitive subject in his profession. The younger man had come to understand that mental illness played a rather large role in crimes, and not just the famous serial killers. Someone like Nathanial Williams was obviously innocent of murder- yet it wasn't too far of a leap to see him commit other crimes without even knowing he was doing them. Even someone like Korda appeared to have rap sheets that went back a ways- including a previous stay in a mental institution. This, along with his intense and unusual crimes made for a good suspect…Even if Norman wasn't very convinced, it was the best he had at the time.

Christ, even Mad Jack was obviously very fucked up. He had taken a real delight in knocking him down and throwing him around like the tender little rag doll he no doubt felt like to the large black man. His skinny white ass didn't have a chance- he still felt the bruises from that day. Though the young profiler would just as sure admit that not all people could be saved, and he had to reduce to the most simple, most primal of solutions. He couldn't help but wonder; what if Jack had simply been diagnosed and medicated long ago?

Though drugs only did so much. They still had yet to make a person care about other human beings- the main symptom of psychotics. It was a flash that he saw in Carter Blake's eyes, a man sworn to defend the public from such nutcases. He supposed in an odd way; that itself was poetic justice.

"What about Mahs? Is he…okay?"

Jayden just barely stopped himself from adding "after you savagely beat him", though he had to admit the temptation was better then anything he was planning. It was still too close to the event to fuck it up, now. He had to be okay, right? The minute he saw Ethan Mars in that busy subway station, he knew he couldn't be the killer. His profiling already confirmed that for him, yet seeing the man with his own two eyes sealed the deal. His demeanor wasn't the arrogant, self-indulged, pretentious attitude common of serial killers, but instead leaden by a certain guilt and hopelessness. Helping arrest the man was bad enough, but seeing him beaten nearly to death by Blake was damn near painful. Assisting in his escape cleansed his palette, and in retrospect he considered it a heroic gesture, as Ethan was the one who rescued his son in the end.

He wondered why Blake never came to him about it. When he left to find Mad Jack, he came back to report the man's death, finding the station in complete chaos. Blake wasn't there, apparently out looking for Mars like he would be standing on some street corner like an ass. Norman had expected to be confronted in regards to Mars' disappearance, yet was surprised when nothing ever came of it. He was never approached by anyone…Did he know? Christ, he hoped he didn't get Gary in trouble. In all honesty, the slightly-portly man may have been rude at first, but he turned out to be a hell of a nice guy.

"He's alright- we're holdin' him for now, but he'll be ready to release in a few days. We wanna make sure we clear him first."

"The man's inn-asent, Blake. What exactly are you hold'n him for?"

"Like I said…_Politics. _Perry knows his ass is in the sling with the false accusations- Mars life is fucked up now because of this- I'd bet he won't be able to get any work around here. Probably have to move- and if Perry can find any shit on him, it would make us look a hell of a lot better."

Norman felt sick to his stomach. Was this how a large portion of this city's police force conducted itself? Jesus Christ, he wondered how many poor souls fell to the victim of the PPD on a slow day.

'_Like today.' _The agent realized.

"That's…ridiculous." He wasn't even sure what to say, 'bullshit' came to mind, but he again tried to mind his tongue.

"I don't like it either, _Norman_. I don't _like_looking like an asshole- I'd rather the bastard be out with his kid, wife, or that fuck'n journalist- whoever, as long as he's out of my hair. I have enough shit to worry about in this town- as you can fuck'n _see_." He gestured towards the TV in a display of irritation.

Blake said it with a sort of mock anger, he found himself already sick of talking to the beauracratic ghost about this old bullshit. Beating a fucking dead horse. Hell, their day had just started and he was already _done _with it. Though surprisingly enough, he found the agent giving him a slightly vexed expression, those light-blues squinting and concentrating on him with a renewed interest. He suddenly felt like some sort of experiment.

"I don't believe 'yah for a minute, Blake. You seemed pretty dead-set on making Ee-thi'n suffah back when you thought he was the Origami Killah. What changed your-"

"Fuck you, _Norman_." He interrupted, his face tilting as he spat the insult, teeth sneering beneath his rough lips as his own eyes narrowed.

"He was degenerate last I saw him; fuck'n pathetic. I thought he kidnapped his own fuck'n kid- he _admitted _to it! What the fuck was I supposed to do, let him _piss _and _moan _about 'loving' his son but not knowing where he was? Fuck, he never did explain that shit to me! Not yet! He has a connection to this case and we still don't know what the hell it is!"

"You woulda' beat him just the same if he didn't confess, Cartuh! We both know that! He'd of confessed to JFK's assassination if you asked! Your confession is a heapa shit!"

Rising quickly to his feet, Norman was reminded heavily of that same explosive demeanor as when they had their first meeting in that small room. It was awkward enough as it was, explaining his theories the best he could in front of three people that considered _him _an intrusion, and his _opinions_ a waste of time. Blake simply drove it all home with his aggressive criticism.

"You don't know _shit _about me, Jayden! Can't handle it when you gotta get your hands dirty, huh? Do you think that fuck'n shrink would have ever talked if I didn't throw a single punch? "

"That's not the _point!"_

"That's exactly the fuck'n point! You never knew what the fuck you were do'in from _day one _and now you're _fuck'n _dead because of it! Don't be telling me how to _my job _in my own goddamn house! You don't like how I do things? There's the fuck'n door, asshole!"

He watched as Blake gestured towards the door, making it obvious he was telling him to pretty much leave; not at all the reaction he was hoping for. So much for trying to play on the man's good side. He wondered if he even had one after all of that. _'Now look at that, look what 'yah did. What the heck am I supposed 'tah say, now?'_

Well, he knew full well he couldn't walk out that door. Not only did he have an obligation to fulfill with Blake, but he knew now that they had been somewhat tethered together by his own death. There wasn't much chance of him being able to leave, period. As much as he was pissed with the raven-haired brute, he knew what he had done was rather discourteous. He was, in all aspects, a guest in this man's house.

"You know I can't leave, Cartuh-"

"Oh, I'll _make _you leave;" Blake spat out, rushing forward to grab Norman's arm and tear him from his stance, his coffee on the table nearly spilling over in the process as his body jerked forward.

"…Get out, get the fuck out of my house-"

"No! Get _off _of me!"

Norman was able to shake himself from his grasp with a quick tear of his shoulder away; giving the man a rather betrayed and frustrated look, harboring on the enraged. Blake saw that look before; back when he left the interrogation room in a huff.

"We don't…see eye-to-eye with our methods, I understand. But don't do drastic stuff like this, Cartuh. It isn't gonna make things ana'h better."

"It's not about methods, shit-for-brains! It's about what _works _and what _doesn't! _You'll learn that if it takes the rest of your life-Oh! Oh no, _wait_, I'm talk'n to a ghost! That's right; you never _will _get it- because you're a _dead man!"_

Why is it that Blake could thwart all of his psychological tactics? He could play Blake's game, go along with it, pretend…Pretend that he was right, and that Jayden himself was wrong…But he knew already this would play into the shorter man's egocentric personality. It would only make things worse; he would become the stuff on the bottom of Carter's shoe. This needed to be a working 'relationship' where they could form some sort of mutual respect. He wondered; was it possible to _be _respected by that asshole?

Wincing at the man's words, he did the best he could; taking a large breath…Then letting it out, trying his best to keep his inner dominating self down. Perhaps it wouldn't kill him to be submissive for now? Just for one day? Maybe Blake would surprise him; maybe he'd lighten up a little? The possible words that would come out of his mouth almost seemed to whirl around him; the possibilities all reaping consequences and rewards that may or may not drastically effect the outcome.

"You know someth'n Cartuh? When I left the station that day, the day I died…I thought for a second- for a godd'hamed second that I'd ask you to come with me. To…To tell you that the Origami Killah owned a warehouse down at the harbor, that I could use the backup-"

"So? Why didn't you?" Blake asked, irritated, but his curiosity still piqued.

"Be'cawse I _knew _how you would react. You nevah trusted a word I'd said from day one of the investigation, and you still don't! Acord'in to you, I don't know en'ethin! I'm just a bureaucratic asshole from Washington, right Blake? That's all I am, somethin' in your way! All I wanted to do was _help _and all you did was treat me like _shit! _If you just fuck'n listened to me-"

Carter barged forward, that beast of a man once again in his personal space. Yet the agent remained stalwart.

"What, Norm? You wouldn't be dead? Wouldn't be dead if I listened to your crackpot _bullshit!"_

"I wouldn't be _dead _Cartuh, if you just fuck'n _listened _to me!"

Blake snapped, a fury unleashed like a broken damn as he pushed Norman, his teeth bared, eyes flashing, sending the fragile, drugged man to the floor. He was going to beat the fuck out of him this time, he knew it, he was going to _kill _him for a second time-

Except everything suddenly wasn't there anymore. He stood in that same autumn forest as before, the wooden deck underneath him feeling oddly at home. It was funny how quickly it rushed up, and how absolutely at ease he felt. There was a slight warmth to the air, and it reminded him of the trips outside of town around the rural areas of Lancaster…Gentle, oddly comforting, toasty air sending leaves flying by him without care.

"…Where?"

Reaching up, he went to remove the ARI glasses that surely he _must _have put on but forgotten about- only to find nothing. His hands touched only his face, and he pulled away said hand as he felt a sickening throb to his stomach, it sunk away to his knees, or at least it _felt _like it did. He gasped, then moaned at the sudden sickness, resting a hand on the nearby couch's end as he heard his heart hammer loudly in his ears.

"Blake?"

Norman's voice. He didn't pay it much heed. Just shook his head, only to find an agonizing, painful throb accelerate as he did so. Gritting his teeth and smashing his eyes shut, he tried to settle himself into a seat when he found his stomach lurch again. He was about two seconds away from running to the bathroom to expel the contents of his gut.

Just then he felt a horrible chill shake him, all the while still in that mockingly gentle autumn forest. He did his best to look up, but found himself dizzy as he took a few steps back, doing his best not to fall or faint. A general faintness took over his form from head to toe, feeling lighter then air as his whole form seemed to pulse with some sort of successive, quick shots of agony. His vision blurred as he got that bile-incoming sense on the back of his throat.

"Take it easy, it'll be ovah with in a minute…It helps if you splash some water on 'yah face…"

Norman put his left hand on the opposing man's shoulder, grabbing it tightly as he gave him a little shake. Then he turned Carter around gently, all the while Blake could feel his stomach surge and rumble as the incoming warning made it obvious. The agent titled his head and leaned in closer to look at his face, determined to see if his eyes were red. Another shake, more violent then before-

'_Fuck, don't do that, don't do-"_

Blake then commenced to throw up the contents of that morning's meal all over the agent in front of him.

There had been a moment in Jayden's mind where he realized what was going to happen. A distinct "I am going to puke!" look glossing over the cop's face a split second before he could react. It was still a shock, however, and his face hinted at that. A few splatters landed on his face, and his jaw slackened as Carter fell to his knees in dismay, and obvious embarrassment.

"Sorry…" He moaned out, actually sounding extremely apologetic. "I'm so sorry…Oh, God…"

He sounded so sick; so disgusted, and he puked again on his feet. Jayden's face contorted to pure disgust and disbelief as the smell hit him.

'_Ugggghhh…That's…revoltin'…This is absolutely, no question…The most disgustin' moment in my life. It has to be.'_

Still, despite the yellowish- blob of eggs chewed, and partially digested on his chest, feet and neck, he wasn't mad at Blake. Not one bit. The man was on his knees before him, and he seemed…Deflated. That was the word that came to mind, for some odd reason. Like a big, puffy Thanksgiving Day parade balloon that somebody poked a hole in, only to watch it crumble up on the ground. He watched his own withdrawal symptoms, the ones he was now just barely holding at bay, manifest in his former adversary.

It was supposed to be so…delightful. Watching this man suffer for all the pain he'd inflicted on Ethan Mars and no doubt countless others before him. All the yelling, cursing, and general nastiness he'd inflicted on him the minute he arrived. Though he supposed that wasn't so accurate, it was more then that. Blake _hated_ him. Even now, he could see that flash of disgust towards the agent, even after he was told otherwise.

Except it wasn't delightful. Not a bit. It was sad, it was just fucking horrible. He found himself feeling nothing but a lump of guilt forming in his throat, not only for causing this, but for his inability to tell him what exactly he was going through, He would have to spill everything, and he wasn't ready to do that yet. Not now.

"It's…It's okay, Cartah." He tried, standing there as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Happened to me when I first started usi'n ARI." He lied. "Puked on a superior…It was just as bad."

He watched the older man shake his head; but did so very awkwardly as he then crawled on all hands and knees for a few feet, attempting to keep his head from spinning. Jayden took steps back to make room for him.

"I threw up on you…" He sniffled, then Norman watched as he tried to move so that he stood on his knees again, and kept his eyes closed from the suddenly 'bright light' as he shook from head to toe.

"Don't be embarrassed…." Norman tried, knowing his pride had been hurt. Perhaps this was exactly what that uptight son-of-a-bitch needed? To be knocked down a notch? Puking on those that were supposed to be 'under' you? Priceless.

"…I was at the wrong place, wrong time. That's all."

Blake said something he couldn't understand, and he just had to sigh again as he backed away. Though a niggling, irritating part of him knew full well that wasn't going to fix this. He watched the black-and-grey haired brute shake again, and he was reminded of his own attacks. This was a bit surprising, however. Jayden began having these sort of symptoms not long after his second week of ARI use, and that's what puzzled him. Why was Blake having such severe attacks all of a sudden? Mirroring his own?

It wasn't right; something _wasn't _right. Sure, Blake could get through them, and because he didn't have Tripto it meant he couldn't be tempted to take the drug that could kill him with its misuse. However, it also meant an extreme amount of pain and sickness, just like now. The ARI overreacting as the seed of it grew in Blake's brain, being fueled and driven, no doubt, by the spike in his food consumption. At least, this was Jayden's theory.

Torn between rushing to clean himself off, and helping the lieutenant, he as always did his best to take the high road. Stooping low, he awkwardly hooked his hand around his arm, and went to lift when he felt resistance.

"Cartah, you need to lie down. It'll pass-"

"What's…going on…?" He slurred as he finally relented, his weak and shaky legs taking woozy steps until he hit the couch, which he was grateful for; then gave out as he squirmed back onto Jayden's previous resting place and laid down on his back.

"It's a result of using the ARI."

"I barely even used it yesterday…"

He was right. Jayden slowly realized it, at first he thought "no, he had to…" but there was only one distinct time Blake had used the glasses, and that was when they were in the car. Most people who experience this sort of reaction use it frequently for weeks.

"Yeah, well…Cartuh, you're a bit of a special case…"

"_You're_ a bit of an asshole."

Norman had to admit he stifled a smile on that one. He really needed to improve the man's vocabulary. Buy him a dictionary or something…

"Yeah, well…regardless…Lay down. I'm gonna go take a shower, then I suggest y'ah do the same when I'm done…"

Carter groaned as he used the back of his arm to cover his eyes, coughing a little as he scrunched up his face at the taste in his mouth.

Jayden sighed as he walked into the bathroom, shedding the disgusting robe in the shower with him in order to assist cleaning it. Once again he reveled in the comforting heat of the water, hoping with all his might that he would be able to ride out any sort of withdrawals he would suffer during the course of the day. Lately, he'd been good- a combination of being away from the brain stimulation ARI forced, and the constant activity of the current situation, it took his mind off of Triptocaine surprisingly easy. He knew it wouldn't last much longer, though.

It was getting worse instead of better, though. It was strange how the whole situation changed things. He still craved the device and its abilities, despite technically being brought 'alive' by the thing. Though the desire wasn't quite as strong. His heart thud in his chest as he washed his hair once again, he had to admit the old cop's shampoo was really growing on him. Even if it did sort of flatten his hair…The smell was nice. He instantly recognized the scent from the man himself.

'_One thing at a time, if you get it, tell him it's from ARI. He'll believe it, look…For some reason, he's having Triptocaine symptoms…It doesn't make en'ah sense, but we'll have to get through today. After that, yes, you can try and figure this out. One thing at a time. Just like always.'_

His life had been just about miserable ever since he began those trials- life working for the FBI had it's many perks, a nice paycheck, wonderful retirement plan with a 401k, simply amazing health insurance, a just- about- guaranteed job security…Above all, a job that could feed his need to be busy, constantly, his ever-anxious mind always in need of something to do. It was a perfect fit, or at least, that's what he thought.

At first ARI was wonderful, absolutely mind-bending and phenomenal. He would spend hours at a time with the glasses on, exploring every feature and marveling at the way it worked with his own thoughts. The world it created for him, easily altering his own to something that was _always _better. Desirable.

Then came the overuse symptoms, then came the Triptocaine…Then came the _withdrawals _from Triptocaine, then went his life. Constant fears about OD-ing on the numbing blue powder or being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time when they appeared. Sleepless nights, long working hours without food or drink, the desire to ingest in neither. The lack of sex or even masturbation, again, the lack of absolute arousal or drive to seek companionship. Spiked, rousing fits of anger- his face, his body, aging long before it's time. Large, puffy bags beginning to form under his eyes. It was funny, he remembered eyeing Blake and those deep-set, tired and round-circled eyes and thinking- that was his future. That is, if he didn't die first.

Funny, it wasn't the drugs that killed him at all. Or ARI, for that matter. No, ironically enough, it saved him.

Rinsing the robe off in the shower, he made sure most of the vomit was gone before wringing it out and leaving it hung up over one of the shower bars. He would have to worry about it when they got back tonight. The thought of this all being over with was a refreshing, if not stressful, one. Because getting to that point was going to be hell.

He was able to escape the bathroom in a towel draped around his waist. Luckily enough, Blake was still lying down and unable to see or notice him. Jayden hastily ran over to the dryer where the clothes resided, loving the feeling of some warm, blue work shirts on his skin as he pulled them in clumps from out of the appliance. Although he hated the idea of wearing Carter's clothes, he wasn't exactly in any kind of position to bitch.

Refusing to touch his iconic blue work shirts, he instead found a white button-down that looked very similar to the kind he wore under his suit. He didn't bother to iron it- he'd wear it wrinkles and all. It wasn't like he was planning on being seen by anybody. Luckily enough, the shirt was still pretty pressed from the dryer's (and it was a fancy one, he'd give him that) abilities, and pulled the warm fabric over his frame, buttoning it up his relatively strong stomach. This shirt was smaller then what he was used to- Blake was barrel-chested and it was easily one, if not two, sizes too big. He looked a bit silly, it came up short on his tall frame, and draped loosely around his upper body. At least the sleeves seemed about right.

His abs were subtle, strong but nowhere near a body builder's capacity- they had not been given up to fat reserves or improper care, yet they were shadows of their former selves. He had seen the lieutenant's workout set and briefly considering giving it a go- yet now certainly wasn't the time. He lamented for a stronger body, if it wasn't for the muscle or slowed-to-a-crawl metabolism, he may very well be skin and bones by now.

Finding a pair of pants that would match was hard. He tried on two, but both didn't exactly fit. One was too short, the other, the waist too big. They fell right down. Then the third seemed like it was passable, though he could easily see his socks with his shoes on- he'd guessed. Not very professional, but it was the best he could do. The waist seemed decent, even if his ass nearly blew out the back, he absolutely had a bigger ass then Blake, he knew that. The man's rear end was a compact little fucking thing.

Despite the slight discomfort, he left the laundry room and sighed in relief when he saw Blake gone from the couch, and the sound of a shower running from behind the bathroom door. He decided to make himself useful and grabbed some stain and odor remover from beneath the kitchen sink. Spraying the stains on the floor with a look of disgust on his face, he stood up and took a deep breath as he tried his very damnest to not think about cleaning up another man's puke. It almost made him vomit in response.

He let the cleaner soak into the rug, doing its job. Then he turned around and caught glimpse of the ARI on the stand next to the couch. For the longest time, Carter kept them close to him- he supposed this was just a minor slip up. It was funny; he could see Blake becoming infatuated with the device just like he did a little less then a year back when he first got them; and fell into its trap before he even knew what was going on.

'_What would happen if I…'_

It was too interesting an inquiry. What if he tried them on? What would happen? He figured nothing at all…Or his brain might explode. He really had no idea. Technically he supposed he could as normal, he had a functioning brain, didn't he? Even if he was a mere ghost inside the machine.

Walking over with some caution, he rose up the device and fidgeted with the temple flanges between his fingers. For some reason, it didn't quite call out to him like before. Even if he knew full well this was the same ARI he'd been using for what seemed like forever. What the hell did that mean?

Closing the gap, he quickly placed them on his face before he could stop himself- and nothing. No blue light dancing on his face, no enveloping of the world around him- just a slightly darker outlook as though he was looking through sunglasses. For a second he thought he could hear the thing hum to life, but died out quickly like a light bulb blowing its fuse.

'_Guess that answers that question…'_

Before he could question it further, he heard a door swing open. Removing and planting the ARI back down quickly, he stood at attention like a private awaiting an order. Blake was there in the bathroom doorway with a towel draped around his waist, looking sheepishly at his victim. He looked embarrassed for the first real time- the only other was in the car yesterday, but that was something altogether different. That was more like humiliation, and Norman was regretting it more and more each time he thought about it.

"Hey, uh…" The agent reacted, looking towards the cop but not focusing on the dark chest hair that lined his pecs and modest, slightly defined abs.

"Can you- I mean…I need my clothes…"

"Oh! Oh, sure, I'll get them-"

"You don't have to…" Came Carter's sullen voice. It was strange of him, and Norman honestly didn't know how to react.

"No, no, I insist, I'll get the bag. It's no problem."

He heard Carter clear his throat; no doubt this situation was killing his pride. Norman's face flushed pink as he grabbed the bag off the table, walking over as he lowered his head out of respect for the half-nude copper as he took it quickly, ushering a "thanks" as he closed and locked the door.

In the short thirty-minutes or so that followed, Norman stood around awkwardly as he attempted to clear his head, get a good grasp on his day would proceed. Planning out, to the best of his knowledge, how things would play out. God, what was he going to do when Carter was at his funeral? Where would he go? He had a nasty habit of appearing wherever he was; and that simply _couldn't _happen. On the bright side, he would be accused of being Jesus Christ and resurrecting from the dead; on another, the government could very well treat him more like a BOW being set upon the world. There was no doubt in his mind this was something his superiors at the FBI were not aware of. They wouldn't even allow it to be in _his own _hands, let alone Blake's…Right?

A click, and the bathroom door opened, there stood a Carter Blake tying his necktie and stepping out in that new suit.

"Alright…Get done in there…Shave, brush yer' teeth…We need to get going. We fucked around enough…"

Despite his harsh tone, Norman easily complied, nodding and walking past him as he entered the steamy room. It smelled rather nice in there, and it didn't take him long to figure out that Blake had applied cologne. He found this a bit strange; he was going to a funeral, not a date. Perhaps he was simply one of those men that liked to smell good? Oh, maybe he was trying to cover up any sort of puke smell? Well, showering should have done that…

Either way, it smelled welcoming. He inhaled a little of it, and looked around for a bottle. It was in the right-hand corner of the medicine cabinet that he found a few vials. God- was that…Stetson? Didn't he just bitch about Tom Brady, and here he was wearing the cologne he promoted? He'd be lying if he said he was surprised, though. Next to it was also _Eternity, _to his wonderment. It was a bit more expensive, he did wear it a few times back in college. He picked up the bottle and dotted a little behind his ears, surely he wouldn't mind?

He did his best to shave, covering his face with the cream before carefully taking it off one pass at a time. Himself, he used an electric razor, so this was a long step back as far as he was concerned. Some blood resulted as he nicked himself all too often, scrunching his face in confusion and pain, studying the lines on his face as he aged long before his time. There was no choice but to use the man's aftershave, smelling richly of Blake as he practically wallowed in his ways. Now the sting of the alcohol-laden, store-brand blue liquid bit at his face.

A half-ass tooth brush later, a swish of mouthwash, then a slight combing of his slightly flattened hair- he was done. He walked out of the room with a renewed swagger as he watched Blake standing there, back to him as his hands graced his hips. There was a hint of attraction he felt burn through him as he gazed at the man looking back at him. There was something about that powerful brute that was almost…desirable when he was calm. His eyes sleepy and almost comforting as he pressed his lips together and gave a slight smirk.

"Alright…Let's go."


	15. Shapes of Conspiracy

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Cursing, sex between two men, (In later chapters.) Attempted sexual assault.**

Author's Note: **Yes, I know...That took WAY too long. Apologies, once again. I had a lot of trouble with this chapter- I wrote several versions, and the dialogue felt fake and forced in every single one. So I hope that this is remotely akin to something presentable. I'm still not fully happy with it, but I had to release this as some point. There's also a touch of Madison in this chapter, whom I don't mind, actually. Don't worry, it's not horrible. (I don't think entirely so, anyway.)**

**I would also like to give a shout out to my homies- my favorite authors, Netherlady, MazlanD, heartmassacre, CarEKaos, Nightlore, Telemachus Prime, JadziaCee and Spookimonster- not to mention some other authors who've began stories but left them hanging- and authors who have written great one-shots. I thank you for keeping me wonderfully entertained (and horny! Thanks for the lady-boner!) for what had to have been...What, a year now? Without you guys, I never would have begun this thing to start with, and you keep me going. **

**I will also say that some of you (and you know who you are!) need to MOVE YOUR ASS and get back working on those things! A great Blayden story in limbo is...My God, it's worse then death. Haha.**

* * *

**_Snake, I am the snake,  
tempting, that bite you take  
Let me make your mind,  
leave yourself behind  
Be not afraid.  
I've got what you need,  
hunger I will feed._**

_**One day you will see-**_  
_**And dare to come down to me.**_  
_**Yeah c'mon, c'mon now take the chance...**_  
_**That's right,**_  
_**let's dance.**_

___-____Metallica "Devil's Dance"_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

It was an awkward next couple minutes as Blake made his way out the door with his 'partner'; and he hated that word…It had that gay implication to begin with, now with Norman's 'abilities' it was even worse- Either way, he couldn't help but notice a slight eagerness in the other man's step as he walked past him and out the door, cathing a whiff of his pricier cologne.

"You wearin'my stuff?"

"Hmm?" The Bostonian questioned, turning around as he dipped his head. "I'm sah'wry?"

"My cologne. You wear'n it?"

"Like I was wearin' your puke, earlier? Sure. Just a little."

Ouch. Blake's eyes narrowed as he cracked a smirk, "Yeah? Well why the hell you wear'n it? You think you're gonna get some undead ass when we're out there?"

"I can ask you the same question, lov'ah boy. Don't think I can't smell that Stenton?"

"Ah, you got me, shithead." Surprisingly enough, he'd never heard the man admit defeat until then.

"I wanna smell like Tom Brady in front of 'yah Boston- dwell'n family. Figured it would make the girls flock to me like flies on shit, ya'h know?"

"Well, 'yah half right…" He sighed, insinuating that at least one aspect of the man's allegory was correct, the shit part that was.

Blake took a few steps down his porch stairs, looking back as he exhaled, the cloud of vapor dissipating quickly. His eyes were bemused, a slight grin to his face.

"Y'ah know, you're starting to get quite the mouth on you…" He said in a upturned tone of voice, blatently teasing.

"I've been hang'n out with you 'fah too long." Norman responded, a slight attitude to his words. The watery cloud of codensation wafted from his lips rather slowly, shivering slightly as he adjusted his jacket and huddled inside of it. He followed Blake, whom didn't seem to respond at all to his little jab.

"That mouth can be used for better things, Jayden." The man's face was lusty as he cracked a half-smile, opening his car door as he glared to the agent with other, far more provocative things in mind.

The agent's face seemed unenthused with his attempt to fuck with him, and simply acted as though nothing was said at all. Blake watched him look towards the ground as he walked, a slight pink coming to that pale face as he refused to make eye contact as he opened the car door.

"God! It's freez'n in here."

Ignoring the complaint for now, Blake instead started the machine and heard it roar to life, that was, after about the second time he cranked the key.

"Somethin' wrong?"

"Huh?"

"With the car…It didn't want to start."

"It does that sometimes- relax."

Sighing deeply, Norman re-shifted in his freezing seat as his breath once more evaporated into a cloud before him. He shivered horribly, clutching his arms around his chest as he leaned back, hoping desperately the car would heat up…Sometime soon, for Chrissakes.

"Is it ah'ways this cold this time of ye'ah?"

Blake seemed out-of-touch for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders as he looked up into his rearview mirror, finding the activity outside pretty much dead except for a car running down the street, then realizing it was just the paper delivery. He could _almost_ barely wait (sarcastically, of course) to once again be mentioned in the paper for his incompetence, the inability to find the Origami Killer under their nose the whole two years. He wondered why he even paid the monthly fee to be insulted every morning.

"Sometimes-Sometimes it's even warm, like summer…It's been a while since _that_ happened, though."

Their conversation was light, and Jayden couldn't help but feel a tinge better as he got Blake successfully from his sullen, abashed episode where he had, without a doubt, his pride mortally wounded. Puking on somebody never goes well. He didn't care what the situation was. Though Jayden gave himself a slight pat on the back for handling it as well as he did.

Norman nodded, pursing his lips and folding his hands in his lap. He was rather enjoying it when Carter acted….civilized? Like he could hold a conversation with another human being and not jump down their throat or belittle them. He found it rather refreshing, relieving- the young agent wasn't sure if he could deal with all this hostility all the time. It would send him to yet another early grave.

"Too bad it couldn't be this year, eh?"

"Yeah, isn't that the truth…Coulda' dealt with a year without those murders, that's for sure."

Ouch. Yeah, of course. Norman licked the top of his lip briefly and instead sat back, watching the lieutenant put his arm behind his head rest, to which Norman ducked out of a slight aversion. Pulling back out of the driveway, those bright lights shone the way as he maneuvered the grey car into position, taking off sullenly as he drove into the dark, chilly morning.

There was an awkward, slightly uncomfortable silence as Carter turned down some urban Philadelphian streets. Norman would have loved to have fallen asleep right then, yet there was a stemming excitement that arouse in the seemingly dead-man's throbbing heart. It was happening. The day had come- Carter was all dressed in that suit, tie synched and hair combed- looking as professional as possible.

He could see the older man from the corner of his squinting eyes, and was reminded of their first days on the Origami Killer case. A tension was in the air back then…Now? It was more of a...strange,_ livid_ air, them both sharing something intimate with one another they'd both rather not. Blake's bodily fluids had been on and in him a few times now- their partnership had most certainly changed.

'_Wouldn't it be nice to have it be the otha'h way for a change?' _He whimsically fantasized. The next time he had the urge to puke, no doubt he'd think to aim towards the lieutenant. Or would he, really? He questioned it; but in the end he just wasn't that masochistic. Besides, he decided it wasn't exactly Carter Blake's fault that he had to throw up. He just...happened to be in the way? Was that the best way to put it?

What about the blowjobs he was 'forced' to give? What if the tables were turned in that special regard? An almost-smile tugged at his face, a heat rushing to his cheeks as he got a sudden, almost unexplained vision of Blake wrapping his lips around his scrotum. Sucking at the testicles, licking along the bottom of the length as he then probed it into his slit! MMMmmm! He envisioned the man's tongue to be thick, like everything else about his steer-like physique. That lovely goatee of his brushing against the inside of his thighs-

"The hell you smil'n about?"

Snapping out of his little fantasy, his face burned even redder at having been "discovered". That smile faded a little, though he had a hard time totally making it disseapear from his cheeks. Instead his heart thud in a combination of eroticism and surprise, and he moved his hips back and forth in the seat to make himself more comfortable. Yes, he had an erection. It pounded painfully in his lap, he thought about crossing his legs, but didn't think that would be particularly helpful. Besides, there wasn't exactly enough room to do that in the small space he was given, not to mention it would be awkward to do such a thing in front of the man he was fantasizing about- no doubt he would draw attention.

Blake _did _have those nice, dick-sucking lips. It was the one feature, perhaps along with his eye color- that he admired about him. He'd do just about anything to see those lips glide up and down his dick, that vulgar tongue lap the head of his manhood until he dripped and was forced to lap it up- Christ! He'd cum in his pants if he kept this way of thinking up any longer. Instead he took to looking out the window, ignoring the slight awkward energy altogether.

"Just'a joke I rah'membered..."

Blake make a "hmmm" noise in his throat, sounding not completely convinced, but also not interested enough to probe into the matter further.

It appeared that Blake had lived on West Penn street, and not all that far from route 76, it made sense to him. It didn't look like a bad area of town, people had yards, and they appeared to be up on a high hill. No doubt the proximity of the highway meant it would be easy to take off and hit the road, making his way to the precinct in good time.

They crossed a few streets, which were relatively lively now that they were entering the city's core. People going to work, getting their breakfast, God knew what else. He spied some cop cars, and felt a little more satisfied that perhaps this area was a little more safe then most. No matter how confident in himself- he'd rather not be robbed in his new 'house' in Philly while he slumbered on the couch.

A phone rang, and his head jerked to the side as he watched Blake shift in his seat and grumble, reaching for the cell phone in his pocket, but finding it difficult.

"…Fuck." He cursed, trying again and had a hard time keeping his eyes on the road.

"Here-" Norman offered, shifting in his seat and reaching over to help.

Blake felt awkward as Jayden leaned over, reaching as the phone continued to ring. He could feel the little peckerwood fumbling around in his black jacket near his ass- he twitched when he felt the hand grace his posterior, trying to keep his face from showing it's irritation and homoerotic discomfort. Finally he found it, pulling it out from it's snug pocket and handing it off. Repositioning his hand, his face belayed nothing but frustration as he took it from the unintentional groper. Taking it off it's "lock" mode, he finally answered the phone just as it was about to go to voice mail.

"Yeah?"

Norman listened a bit more intently then he should have. Now he seemed to be fascinated wholly by the lieutenant's activities and relations. He was steadily becoming a morbid curiosity to him.

"Uh-huh…On the road already…The traffic's pretty thin…Getting on the highway now..."

Indeed, the younger man turned his head to find them getting onto an ramp on one of the state's many highways. He wasn't much of a fan of Blake talking on the cell while he was driving, but he knew better then to argue. He gazed down at the two-way radio below, easily in the switched 'off' position. He could only just begin to wonder the sort of things that have been said through it- unbelievable atrocities committed amongst mankind by the citizens and the people sworn to protect them.

"You know where to go? Yup- no…No, that's…Eh, no, I had a big breakfast. I'm just gonna drive right through…Well go ahead- Yeah, I'll tell 'em…Alright…Hehe…Yeah, good…."

Blake hung up unceremoniously, pushing the "end call" button on the touch screen as he handed it back to the agent.

"Ash…" He remarked, though Blake wondered himself why he felt the need to inform him in the first place.

"Wanted to make sure I was on my way…He's already halfway out there- was wondering if I wanted to grab a bite, but obviously I can't do that with your ass in tow."

"Do what you want, Cartuh. I'll stay in the car…"

"And risk having someone look in and see you? Especially Ash? No- you gotta stay out of the public eye as much as possible."

Blake had to admit, part of him had to wonder why. Why couldn't he just arrive with dear 'ol Norman at his own funeral and throw him to his family, then spin off? Seeing the look on their faces would have been satisfying enough to warrant such a risk.

"You're right. I probably shouldn't 'ah even came…"

"No. You need to make sure I do this shit right. All of it. We had a deal…I don't pull any bullshit- if you need this done, it'll get done…The right way. You're gonna owe me if it turns into a pain in the ass, I can tell you that."

"Yeah, well it probably will be…" He sighed. "I just wish I could go and at least tah'lk to my family…"

"Shit, Norm, the FBI is after me about those fuck'n glasses of yours. They see you and it's going to get even worse- we'll both be up a shit crick without a paddle!"

Blake seemed to bellow the words as he- in a very animated fashion- rising his left hand off the steering wheel and gestering towards the road in front of him as said "shit crick". Jayden eyed this, hopeful that they wouldn't careen off the road and into an actual "crick" of some sort. Blake had a very no-nonsense view on driving, nearly running down several pedestrians on their previous investigation. Something told him a highway's guide rails wouldn't have much better luck.

"I understand. I know…I just…wish things could be diff-rent, that's all…"

Sighing heavily, the police lieutenant seemed to mellow out as he got on another ramp, passing a large, green, reflective sign marked I-95 and merging into some very sparse traffic. He noticed now it was the same highway he investigated next to when he arrived in Philly- funny how things always seemed to come together.

Norman once again shifted in his seat, noticing the sudden and strange silence that took over the car. He swore he could hear the detective next to him breathe, and it was slightly unsettling. It was like being next to a sleeping dragon, ready to awaken and pounce any minute.

Looking out the window, he sidled towards it as far as he could go as he exhaled, watching the cars fly by. Blake seemed to drive like he stole it- no shocker there. He appeared to have trouble staying in one lane for too long, constantly switching as he felt the need to pass one after another. The agent began to watch the license plates- mostly Pennsylvania, with the yellow, white and blue coloring and the state's website address. He couldn't help but think that it was horribly boring.

Though a large portion was also made up by New Jersey- which was even worse. That one was brownish tinge fading into white, and nothing more. A good many also seemed to hail from New York, Maryland, Delaware, Virginia…one from Florida, so far. It had only been about a few minutes, and yet the small number of cars on the highway seemed to be surprisingly varied.

"So uh…" Blake began, and it was rather surprising to Jayden that he even said anything.

"Where'd you uh…Go to school at?"

The agent couldn't help but be surprised, moving forward in his seat as he tried to lift his heavy eyelids.

"High school or college?"

Blake almost scoffed; but kept his composure. He had a whole car ride to go with this guy, he needed to maintain some sort of peace in order to remain sane.

"College, _Norman_. I don't really _care _where you went to high school…"

"I wouldn't think you'd care where I went to college, eith'ah."

Nearly smirking, the older male changed lanes as he once again passed a motorist, the blue jeep was apparently going too slow at the snail's pace of sixty-five miles per hour in a fifty-five marked highway.

"I don't. I'm… just trying to start a conversation?"

It almost sounded as though he was asking permission, and Jayden had to inwardly smile at his attempt. He couldn't blame him- though really, he was about ready to get some uncomfortable car-sleep in.

"Ah, well…" His tone was heavily accented, his tongue almost too lazy to talk.

"I uh…I went to Bay State…Prett'ah highly rated…'bout…four years. Went by pretty fast."

Blake nodded; the bastard beside him couldn't be any more boring right now. He didn't even sound interested in his own life story.

"Four years? That all it takes to be a…err…"

"Profil'ah? No, just to g'het an add-vanced da-gree in psychology. To be a profil'ah I had to train with the F-bee-eye."

"How long did that take?"

"A f'ew yea's…I learn fast, so it was no problem."

"So, what? You were in just like that?" Blake almost felt good about attacking Norman's credibility- it didn't seem to take him long to get into his profession. What a fucking kid-

"No. I worked for the F'Bee-I for at least five ye'ahs, first. I was a special agent…I uh…Shit, it was a pain in the fuck'n ass- I had to compete with all these assholes for the job…It was horrible. Cut'cha throat so much as look at'cha."

"Okay- so when did you have the chance to go to school?"

"While I was work'n. What?"

"Well fuck, how long was your work day?"

"'Bout…nine'ta five. Though I pulled 'a lotta all-nighters."

"How the hell did you manage to work _and _attend college?"

Norman found himself a little at ease. For once Carter was impressed, it was obvious by the side view of the older man's face, he was indeed surprised. Perheps even facinated, he'd bet on it if he were a betting man. At least...Not anymore- not after he lost enough money for it not to be fun anymore.

"I just did it. I almost never hung out- drank, did anythin'- but ay'e _did _it. I got through it. Just as well, I mean…I hate downtime, anyway…"

Carter shook his head in irritation, part of his pride damaged. He turned his lips inward and briefly chewed on the top one- only to draw them both out and lick them as he sat back in his seat, eyes burning harshly.

"So you're tell' in me you actually got to where you were by _working your __**ass**__ off?"_

Saying this as he leaned over, one hand taken off the wheel to gesture with it, pointing into some random space between them as he accentuated "ass" a great deal. It actually made the agent feel uncomfortable, but not enough to shake him.

"Yeah, Cartuh, I did. Why? Why's that so hard to believe?"

Jayden's voice was, understandably, on an edge. His squint came back, and he leaned forward as he gave Blake an accusing stare, waiting for a response. The older man's gaze was pinned to the road, not even noticing that his own speed had dropped and several of the cars that passed him had caught up, leaving him in the dust.

"Like I said…You don't seem the type to getch'a hands dirty…" He tried to explain, and really, he had a hard time coming up with a reason why he never saw Norman as a particularly hard-working individual.

"Yeah, I'm not a dirty cop, Cartuh." Jayden insulted, a sharp edge of hostility laced inside.

"Can't say the same for you…" Came a whisper as he leaned back against the window, and he waited…Just _waited_ for Blake to explode, but was surprised when a few strained seconds went by with nothing except their odd quiets between them.

"…I never took a bribe."

His words were surprisingly loud despite them being muttered practically under his breath. Jayden heard it very easily, the only other sound being the rumbling of wheels down the highway.

"I'm sahry?" He asked, mostly for clarification. Though he had a good feeling what was said.

"I said I _never took a bribe. _You call'n me a dirty cop? Think I'm fuck'n deaf?"

"Well I'm happy for 'yah." '_Bullshit.' _Norman thought. "So that's something you actually take a stand on? Out of h'all the other _illegal _activities?"

"Norman, I really…_really _can do without your fuck'n mouth today-"

"Really? You seem 'tah like my mouth, or 'am I imagin' what happened the past coulpa' days?"

Carter's driving sped up, and he took a turn a bit faster then he should have. He ended up braking a little to slow him down, his hands wringing the steering wheel as he once again took a deep breath to control himself. This was actually an impressive feat for him- he would like to say he was never so close to wanting to fucking kill a man in his life- but Jayden certaintly wasn't the first.

"**Fuck -**_**you**_, asshole..."

The insult was strong, incredibly despondent, yet it was said with a face that looked more distracted then angry. In the end the whole thing came off rather vapid, and so Norman looked back at him in mild interest as he lay his head back against the seat. He was half tempted to try and get some sleep again. Except…Well damn him, now he was curious, too.

"So, I assume you only graduated h'eye school? Besides the academy, that is?"

There was a slight quiet, one that made Norman's cheeks almost heat up in embarrassment. It had nothing to do with the actual question, it just made him feel stupid. Why'd he even care? He supposed he knew he should have been trying to do what Blake wanted, make the guy happy. No doubt he felt like shit right then, and not just emotionally- no doubt about it, the withdrawals were starting to effect him once more. He could have used some cheering up after his long sick spells, that's for sure.

"Yeah." Came his reply, finally. Though it wasn't exactly a joyful tone.

"What was it like? Did you…Have a lot of friends? Play sports?"

There seemed to be an underlying method to the young man's madness. If he could find out a bit more about the man in blue, he would perhaps be able to understand his sadistic, chaotic mind. The way he ticked was beginning to be more of a project of his- or maybe the man was just an asshole? Somehow, he figured that may just as well be likely.

"Played football for the first couple years…Then I tore some muscle in my leg...mom made me quit. Never went back…"

Blake said it over-top a sigh, released slow, like somebody letting air out of a balloon. He sounded just as saddened and deflated to match it. Carter rubbed his mouth and let his left arm be propped up by the window, leaving his palm on his mouth as he casually drove down the highway with one hand.

He wasn't comfortable with this at all. There was something writhing beneath his exterior that only displayed itself in his boughts of violence and masochism- and he wasn't ready to show it to anybody. Especially not his new little bitch. However, as much as he hated it, he was indeed being interviewed by a psychiatrist. If anybody was going to crawl inside his head, it was going to be him. This came to his attention a little bit ago, and as it was, he was trying to step lightly.

"Oh…I'm…sahry tah' hear that." He put as well as he could. Giving the man a slight glance out of the corner of his eye, he gave his lips a slight lick then continued to stare off into the distance as he took notice of the change in scenery. It had changed to a slightly less residential area, and he had taken notice it was the same route he took on the way to Philly in the first place. A farm loomed in the distance, crops lining both sides of the road as some diary cows grazed in the far-off hillside.

"Did 'yah…grow up in the city? In the country?" Norman suddenly thought- even if he already knew the answer.

This time he responded a bit more quickly, he shifted as he rounded a curve, and cast the man next to him sidelong glance as he immediately turned his eyes towards the road.

"Not far from here-actually. Guess you can say it was in the country…I don't know…Kinda in the middle of nowhere…"

Jayden nodded, his tired, drugged eyes looking into the side of the older man's face. He'd come to notice how odd his features were- his face flat, his whole head was, all around, even the back. His eyes were small and deep-set, yet expressive, and it was beginning to get easier to read the older male by looking into those pits of ire. For the briefest of seconds, he'd wondered what Carter looked like when he was a young man. Not filled with dark, piteful despair, but instead a youthful vigor that could only be matched by his sheer sexual potency. Though Jayden could only marvel at just how horny the cop would be back then if this was how he was right now.

"What about you?" Came the retort, in a surprisingly gentle tone. It was a tone the dead man had yet to hear from the cruel lieutenant.

Shrugging his shoulders lightly, he struggled with how to put the words. He didn't want to sound like an idiot now that they were getting along surprisingly well despite a…rough morning.

"Suburb outside Bost-in, not too big of a place."

That was it. Jayden's childhood had been surprisingly tame, and he honestly had few truly positive, memorable moments. Nodding, Blake switched on the turn signal, indicating his change of lanes. Jayden looked up and out the window, noticing they were moving onto the turnpike, the sign "Pennsylvania Turnpike" emblazed on a keystone shaped, green sign indicating the exit one needed to take in order to turn onto he pay-road.

"Alright there, Casper the asshole ghost- sit tight. Look down, don't stick out."

Furrowing his brow, he hesitated as he took in that insult.

"Cartuh, are you fuck'n serious? I'm not a ghost!"

"You're dead. Or did'ya forget that one, FBI?"

He was about to interject, when the toll plaza reared it's head out of the haze that had enveloped the road. It was still dark out, but less so, and it was obvious to the Boston native that the sun would be rising shortly, that dawn and the odd sort of twilight sky would appear soon, with it's light blue twinges and vestiges of light towards the horizon. Say what he would about the state and it's inhabitants, but so far both the sunsets and sunrises had impressed him.

The plaza itself sprawled a good distance, several lanes open as it announced in green signs "CASH ONLY", "EZ PASS", or "CASH or EZ PASS." He had an EZ Pass, but sad to say- being dead, and the label on his old license plate that was now somewhere in the remains of his crushed-up Chevy Impala in Mad Jack's scrap yard- well, that sort of put a damper on things. He noticed Blake getting into the exclusively EZ PASS lane, and for some reason he didn't quite get, felt the need to ask.

"You have one?"

"Have what?" Blake asked, a bit irritated.

"An EZ Pass…"

"This is a state-use car, peckerhead. The state pays it."

"Oh…"

Jayden's cheeks blazed- what the hell was wrong with him? Every time he tried to make some sort of conversation, tried to one-up the old cop, he ended up looking like an ass. It was painfully embarrassing, though certainly not the worst as of late.

Sailing through the EZ PASS lane, Norman did his best to keep his head down as other cars slowed down as they entered, grabbed a ticket, then left the toll booths next to them. His luck, one of them would be an avid news watcher, and would recognize him and the almost-famous cop he was with. Not that Norman himself had the sort of face that stuck out- it was simply how his luck tended to run.

He could tell they were going the right way, the drive up may not have been memorable, but it _was _painfully simple. It was his first time in the state, but not his first time travelling north. So instead of bringing up which way to go next, he decided to keep quiet unless he was needed. Though it was still a long, long ways off. He noticed the older man's driving habits to be fast and aggressive, not at all shocking considering his personality. Norman was no slow chump himself, but he tended to at least stay around the speed limit, something Blake himself seemed to have considered more of a suggestion.

"What, you agents had to pay for your pass? Fuck'n cheap asses…"

"No- the account was just owned by the Federal Government."

Blake nodded, then sighed as he scratched the back of his head.

"Yup…"

Wow.

Blake honestly could say this was the most boring fucking conversation he had in his life- okay, well…Maybe that wasn't entirely true- women he'd been with, now the shit _they _had talked about had been boring. Still, this was easily the worst he'd heard in a long, long time. The disgruntled, obscene brute of a cop, instead, sought to rid himself of some curiosities that he had been a bit too cautious to ask. Not really for sake of ruining his "clean" appearance to the man that already loathed him, but instead saving himself from looking like he really cared. Still, they were men, regardless of one another's sexual orientations. Though, as far as Blake was concerned, it was still a "choice." Norman's "choice" was, to Blake, weak and unclean in his eyes. It was hard for him to respect a man who would make such a decision.

"Ever been with a girl?"

The question felt heavy the minute it was uttered; so heavy that Jayden nearly just let it drop. Except the damn air was too quiet in the car's cabin, with no radio blaring or outside noise to feign not hearing him. How easy and nice it would be to dismiss that question, let it slide and chaulk it up to Blake being the ignorant, prude asshole he was.

Instead, he readjusted himself in his seat again, suddenly feeling very warm as his blood rushed to his face as he turned away, staring out the window. _'Just 'answer him, you don't have to go into detail…'_

"Twice…" He paused, feeling his heart pound in embarrassment as he recalled both events. "It wasn't…very memorable." That was a flat-out lie. It was _very _memorable, if that meant being something he'd rather forget.

Blake gave a little laugh with a snort, and sat up more in his seat as he gave a glimpse on over to his traveling companion.

"Two! Fuck, _two _girls?"

Blake's tone was quite astonished, though part of it was in fact a put-on to make a bit more of ass out of his traveling companion.

"How'd that work? I mean…Being a _queer _and all…"

Of course, he said "queer" with more malice then the rest of the sentence, though it wasn't spat at him like a vehement hatred he'd heard so much of. Luckily for Norman, or perhaps not entirely so- he'd been able to keep his sexual orientation on the hush-hush in most of the precincts he's been to. Cities in New England tended to be liberal and tolerant, so the issue almost never came up. When it did, it wasn't discussed openly for fear of persecution on either side. Jayden didn't tell the cops he worked with he was gay, but if it came up in a conversation, it was played, danced around, just in case.

When he was called to California, the same thing nearly resulted, though the LAPD was famous for it's brutality, he found them strangely accommodating. Hell, he'd made a few friends over there, though they stayed out of his bedroom. One of them found out he was gay, but seemed quite uncarring and even anesthetised to the whole concept of sexuality. Jayden found himself far more disturbed over that then if he had been cornered, then beaten in a bathroom stall- like so many gay or bisexual men before him.

The gay community was of course established better there then many places in the country, but that was never his whole scene. He much preferred a trim, almost-straight or bi-curious man, sweet but not a pushover, either. It was a hard type, and he was turned off by the flamboyant nature his orientation was always portrayed as. Fuck, he couldn't even clean his own house properly, let alone pick a wallpaper color.

The south on the other hand…He loathed traveling down there, especially in the smaller, less tolerant, back-way parts of the godforsaken United States. Everything from the Ku Klux Klan to the Republican assholes who found his way of life 'disgusting' and a piece of trash to be stomped- to simple, ignorant hicks making comments to their bar-buddies; usually involving a lynching like 'back in the good 'ol days' made his blood boil to a stupendous level. His rage threatening to unfurl much like the flag they would claim to believe in- except in his case, he couldn't afford to fly free. He needed his job, needed this busy way of life to satiate everything about himself, his addictions, and _had_ to, _craved _to keep himself collected. It was a practice he'd homed, and had used quite the number of times when talking to Blake himself.

Yet despite that, Blake's tone and words didn't really sting him. Because he didn't believe the man was a real fag-beater. He'd seen those types, and he didn't fit the bill. A homophobe, perhaps, but that wasn't uncommon, especially for men his age. Though he didn't key Blake in to be religious, for obvious reasons, so to him the comments seemed to be more of a way to reassure himself, to keep himself comfortable in his own sexuality. Any fears the lieutenant had of having such 'sick' desires were squashed the minute he lashed out against them, tied it to the whipping post and beat it into submission. He didn't see Carter as gay, or even bisexual, but he did see him as…curious. Just like him, _and_ just like him, Norman didn't know how good it was with a man compared to a woman. Not until he actually laid his hands on one.

It wasn't that Norman "chose" to be the way he was- if it was even possible to do so- it was more of a search for that missing desire that always eluded him, like an ancient explorer looking for the untold realms of El Dorado or the Fountain of Youth, and just as unobtainable. A man's body felt right, felt natural to him, and when he held his lover close he swore they became one living, breathing thing. The way his hands held those masculine hips against his own, the heat and the closeness blending together in a tempest of life and passion- it was something he imagined sex should have been.

Except it really wasn't.

Fucking a man did feel more 'right' then it did with a woman- the attraction was there for men, but not passionately so. Sure, he enjoyed staring at female breasts, though he preferred the smaller ones, the way they bounced was so much more erotic to him then the way the large, fake ones protruded almost helplessly from a woman's tight tank top; practically crying for help. He found woman beautiful and attractive in the same sense as one woman would find another, by admiring her form and the natural beauty that no man could ever possess. Treating them better then even the men he "dated", purely based on his own upbringing, which was to respect the opposite sex no matter the reason. Being raised mostly by his busy mother helped the lesson.

When he first went to bed with a boy in high school, he knew it was what he had been missing after dating two girls. Everything from kissing his lips to fucking him deeply, slowly and calculated. It felt right, and not for one second did he feel shame for his actions. Though those moments weren't without their humiliating instances.

Those romantic hints and gestures weren't anything like he thought they would be, though. Woman seemed to want him more, appreciate him more, and were sure as fuck easier to come by. Those young men didn't feel for him like he tried to feel for them, didn't want the moments of passion he needed and craved to affirm his self-esteem, the thing he lacked for a long time. He identified himself as a gay man, yet found himself becoming more and more asexual with nearly every passing sexual encounter.

"Y'know, I'm not sure I feel comf'table talking to you about this, Cartuh-"

"What, you getting shy now, Jayden? Didn't you just suck my _dick _yesterday? Come'on, we're men- we're supposed to talk about this shit."

Blake's tone was perplexing to the young profiler- mostly because he actually sounded interested. Such a strange concept, Norman thought, seeing as the older homicide detective had made it clear he didn't want to get involved in his personal life.

"What, like two friends would?" He brought up, glancing back ironically as he sidled back into his seat, then turning to look outside with delayed interest.

Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, Blake didn't take his eyes off the road as he tried to convey his slight curiosity. "Yeah…" He said, as if not really caring one way or another.

"Ay'e thought we weren't friends?" Jayden stated, his tone that of a smart-ass, pompous asshole. A tone more befitting his companion then him, or so one would think.

His face burning a sudden red, Carter readjusted in his seat as he kept his eyes forward, not wanting to make it obvious he was heavily irritated by that comment.

"Why don't you _**fuck off**__, Norman…"_

A smirk crossed the younger man's face as he darted a look over towards his traveling companion; who was currently looking ahead as well as he could, stewing in a sort of vehement contempt as he did his best to avoid eye contact. This surprised Norman, as if anything Carter had always seemed eager to raise his hackles and go in head-first against him, almost always initiating the meeting of eyes and the clashing of wills.

Not this time, instead his voice and visage conveyed a certain underlying distress, a wounding of a stricken, woeful chord. Now the agent glanced back and forth from the cop to his window, noticing the very slightest of harbringer rains start dribbling down on the windshield, the lieutenant turning on the wipers to clear them away. Since when did it seem possible to mentally harm this brute of a man? This Hannibal of Philadelphia that seemed more eager to rip out his still-beating heart then ask him how he was fucking feeling this morning? Or was he simply misreading his partner of the past week? It was easy to do, considering his odd, sporadic behavior that was nearly impossible to fully diagnose.

Part of Norman told him not to apologize, that Blake in fact hated it and would only make him seem weaker in his small, yet expressive eyes. Though part of him also said it would always be the right thing to do; that it could clear the air and put them once again on a level playing field. Still yet another told Norman that apologizing all day and all night never really took the actual event, the actual words away, you really never could take words back once they were out there in the ether. Especially now, his words as a dead man seemed to echo far further and louder then ever before. Funny how it always takes death to put things in a light people can actually see. Until they forgot, that was, and the busy nature of life consumed everything of importance.

"I r'illy appreciate what you're do'n for me…" He paused, looking towards Carter with some partial irritation swished about with a touch of sorrow.

"…and I…I want us to get alo'hng."

He looked at Blake under his proverbial microscope, could see his eyes and lips twitching- those eyebrows heavier then a blacksmith's anvil, weighing them down and causing his eyes to look like sinful pits, shadows, the crevices in his face looming tenfold as the darkness crept over every feature on his form. Even his large, powerful yet stout hands seemed to grab the wheel a bit harder then before, clawing at the wheel like the goddamn crept keeper.

Norman found himself not quite knowing what to do, if he opened his mouth he'd most likely dig his hole deeper. Talking to Blake simply didn't get you anywhere, no doubt the man could never be a delegate, congressmen, hell- he shouldn't be a cop, he simply didn't have the ability to use words, or even accept them, as a means of solving anything.

Rubbing his eyes, the pale, exhausted profiler sat back in his seat with a massive sigh. He was glad that his withdrawals were at least subsiding, showing themselves with just the slightest volume of intensity as he experienced when alive. The Percocet was helping, and he was glad to have kept the orange vial and stuffed it in his pant pockets before he left, no doubt they'd prove valuable today. Though he knew from reading the side of said vial that he couldn't take this medication even near the frequency of Tripto- as Percocet would positively _wreck _his liver, turning him into a dead man once again without much trouble.

The sound of the window wipers swishing back and forth was alluring, making him want to drift back off to sleep in the man's silent, awkward car cabin. It was warmer now inside the vehicle, yet the cold, callous nature of it's owner nearly chilled the room to the bone, the dark and dreary clouds obscuring the coming dawn. Sleep was practically calling from the warm leather seats, to rest his weary head and deceased body, he gave his lips a small lick and closed his eyes to do just that- when the lieutenant spoke. He sounded like a thunderclap in the small environment, causing his eyes to pop open.

"Warm enough?"

It had been the second instance Carter had asked him that in the small time they had known each other. The first had been not long after he had shot Nathanial, and they drove up on the curb, waiting outside the coffee shop for Korda. It was the first sentence he uttered after the fatal shooting, and it had sounded oddly concerned, a mirror of the tone he used now.

Shifting himself to sit up better, he let out another exasperated sigh as his head began to pound in succession with his heart, and gave the man a slightly begging look from under his heavy-set eyes.

"Yeah…Yeah it's…Okay. It's toasty 'ehn h'eh."

The response was quite the same from before as well, though only slightly more relaxed. This time, he wasn't on the verge of emotional collapse.

Blake just gave a curt, quick nod, then stared forward as he continued to lazily drive down the long stretch of highway. He never expected to hear the younger man next to him speak up after a short, yet heavy silence.

"The first time…I didn't know I was queer, ya'h know?"

At first, the cop was willing to ask what the fuck he was talking about-until he remembered the question that started their mini, awkward tiff- him asking how sleeping with a girl had been despite being gay. He didn't look at Jayden despite the desire to do so, give him some eye contact to let him know he was listening; respect and general human nature was left in the wayside and instead was substituted with the man trying to gleam some sort of pride from basically ignoring the agent, at least emotionally.

"Right…" Blake answered, in the most plain way possible. "So your first time was with a girl?"

Norman swallowed nervously, pursed his lips as he looked out the window, and could swear he felt himself become nervous. His leg bounced a little against the car's floor, and for a moment he considered if this was a withdrawal symptom, or the tension from the potential unwinding of a very confusing, devastating moment for him. Revealed to Carter Fucking Blake, no less. Psychotic, antichrist, asshole cop of this century. Nodding, he watched Blake glance in his direction to notice his aggreance.

"Yeah…She uh…She came onto me. We were in the drama club togetha'h…."

His story was cut off by the sound of Blake snorting, a dark chuckle reverberated in the air, making it vibrate with his deep chest.

"Drama club?"

Scowling, Norman squinted horribly as he tried to think of a good reply to counteract the man's ignorant remark, but only succeeded in a strange staring contest with the side of his dimpled and scarred face.

"What?"

"You're just queerer than _fuck_- you were in the _drama club_?" Another laugh, though far less intimidating.

"Makes a _lotta_ sense…"

"Oh yeah?" Norman took offense, jerking forward in his seat as his eyes narrowed vindictively, his long form practically making his head hit the windshield.

"How about a thick asshole like you play'in football? Huh? Bet you were a jock, made everah'ones life a liv'n hell…"

He expected the older male to explode, and in retrospect he could kick himself violently for even thinking of saying such a thing to the human volcano. Fuck, he'd do well to nickname him "Mt. Blake" for his unexpected torrents of excessive aggression, but did well to keep that term of affection to himself. Instead, however, he witnessed Carter chewing his lower lip briefly, then watched him nod slowly.

"You think you're fuckin' smart, don't you?"

His tone wasn't defeated, or even angry, but instead condescending. Of course the lieutenant was angry, about ready to stop the car, get out and bash his brains in- but he had been trying very, very hard to keep himself just short of killing the fucker again. Though his leash was a short one, the chain digging into his metaphorical neck as it chaffed and synched, becoming painful to hold back his desire to crush what had risen up so defiantly against him.

Norman shrugged with some hesitancy, looking straight out the windshield in an attempt to help cool down the situation he had almost intentionally escalated.

"I do'nunno...Not ri'lly…"

Carter practically scoffed; then spat out a "What?" in the most confused of tones, his white incisors glistening as a strange sort of smile evaporated from his face with the comment.

"You sure as fuck have been act'n like your shit don't stink this whole time, now you're tell'n me…what? It was just an act? Just a fuck'n front?"

"It's not _that…_" Jayden almost interrupted, closing his eyes as he attempted to separate himself from the stressful situation the best he could, the sound of the car rumbling down the road filling his ears. A constant reminder of the impending event.

"How long have you even _been _a profiler, Jayden?" The use of his last name throwing him off.

"Two years." He droned out, his head beginning to throb, especially behind his eyes. The younger man had hoped the withdrawals wouldn't come flooding back.

"They recommended you- said you were the _perfect _for the job. Fuck, I don't know…Perry called, not me…But he said you were fuck'n smart. Now you're say'n you're just as asshole with a big goddamn head on 'yer shoulders? It all makes sense, now…"

Silence. Norman felt his stomach bottom out as he swung his head towards the outside window. He swore he wanted to die right then, hell he wasn't even angry. Not anymore. Pure, uncut depression that filled him from head to foot, making his soul rot, his core turning to jelly and withering him quite like the pale flower taken out of the sun, put into a closet to die. Much like his already dead, decomposing state in that coffin in Washington. It made sense, now. He was dead, why bother even trying to feel good about yourself?

Now his self esteem sunk far below his knees, and he took a deep breath as he sank into the car seat. Stuck in a vehicle heading southbound in Pennsylvania towards D.C, with a man he loathed. If he could even think of Blake as a 'man' so much as he was the demon Nathanial had claimed him to be- strange how he seemed to inwardly notice how the insane seemed to see things even the right-minded appeared too oblivious to take notice.

"I don'ht think I'm stupid…" Came Normans sad, depleted voice. Carter took notice, and felt almost angry as the other dominant male became weak, an easy target to impose his alpha status.

"I just…Nevah really believed'n myself, I guess…I, uh…I haven't in a r'illy long time."

The agent took a minute to glance towards Blake, who did the same to him, and he was quite surprised to see a look of humanity in the cop's eyes for that brief second, urging him to "go on" instead of the "stop crying you pussy" look he'd expected.

"Evah'time I accomplished someth'n…I nevah though I da'served it. Like I…" Norman took a moment, moving his hands as he looked down at them, holding them inches from each other as he grimaced, doing his best to put his feelings into words. Shit, this was what it felt like? Opening up to someone you barely knew about your feelings and thoughts? Fuck…This sucked.

"Like I was 'nevah good enough, y'know? No matter how hard I worked, what I did, it nev'ah felt good enough…Fuh God's sake, I wasn't even able to get the Origami Killah, he was right there…I couldn't seal the deal…It was my fault he got away, nobody else's…"

His last words were spoken under his breath, leaning towards the car's passenger window as his breath caused condensation on the pane of cool glass. Even with the heat on, it seemed the electric windows still remained unable to accept the car's pressing warmth.

Norman had always felt that way, knew it, sensed it with a sort of pressing omnipresence that he was fully aware of. The psychologist that he was told him this, as well as his own deep and inner reflection. He considered this was possibly what caused his addictions, anywhere from the passing bets he took at the pony track, to the hardcore Triptocaine binges he'd indulged in to keep his ARI-fried brain from practically oozing out his nose. His dependence on everything from work, substances, and feelings of temporary euphoria from either devices or experiences made up for the inadequacies he felt in his day-to-day life.

Not that he didn't love his craft, desire to be the best he could- to be the best to his mother, to his father, to anybody he even remotely cared for. It was the fact that he couldn't enjoy any of these without feeling, somehow, he'd never be worth a fucking thing as long as he had those dependences, as long as his father felt the need to fuck around on his mom; as long as his brothers shunned him and 'lovers' ignored his every need.

There was a slight silence in the car, not that he wasn't expecting it, not that neither of them actually knew what was going to come out of one another's mouth. It was obvious there had been yet more tension hanging in the solemn, wet air then what had been intended by both that morning. Norman knew Carter could most likely care less about his problems, his pussy 'feelings' and issues, hell he himself saw his own psychosis as a result of his own weakness, even if his own teachings told him otherwise. Even if he knew better, that it was always far more complicated than that. None of it fucking mattered when it was your own lamb to the slaughter, and the Gods were hungry.

"You know, Norm…" He started, and his tone sounded so earth-shattering in the quiet cabin, that the ghost felt himself jump. Turning his head lightly towards the source, he felt just a touch terrified at the older man's upcoming words. He really couldn't deal with the mighty, pit-bull of a lieutenant pushing him down farther into self deprecation.

"Y'ah wanna know what the first thing I thought of when I saw 'yah back in the wasteland?"

Norman was caught slightly taken-aback. Now, what _exactly _was he going with this?

"What?" He asked, his tone worrisome and slightly paranoid in the delusions behind them. All the possibly positive, yet moreso negative, comments came swirling through his thoughts. It nearly made his heart speed up with a sort of excitement he wasn't quire used to. Alas, his heart was all a-flutter!

A small smile turned the corner of his mouth as Carter gave the younger man in the car a slight, smart-ass glance. One that spoke volumes- and he thumbed his nose as he leaned more towards him, arm reaching to rest on his seat as he relied on steering the car with his left hand. Fuck him, it felt like he was talking to a girl again, the clock turning back all the way to the 80's to when he actually had a heart for trying to impress some ass.

"I was think'n, 'Oh shit, Washington's sent us a fuck'n pretty boy- I hope he's one of those smart ones, anyway."

What made Jayden laugh a little, just a second or two of a chuckle, like it was released before he could stop it.

"Aw thanks, that makes me feel so much bettah." Norman played. His tone at the edge of being serious or joking, he wasn't quite sure which.

"Then you started talkin' and I thought '_Fuck'n smart-ass _from Boston, just what I need."

Jayden leaned against his seat with a reddening face, humbled, embarrassed, but somehow feeling better. Really, Blake had just insulted him…or did he? Why didn't it feel like a rude jab in the ribs? For whatever reason, it felt practically…Complimentary.

"Yah too kind, r'illy." He spoke, lowly, his voice strained.

"You're not _stupid_, Jayden…" Blake stated, and he felt a hint of anger rise out of his voice, as if it was ridiculous he even had to state. "Not worthless, either. You're a fuck'n _asshole _who needs to pull his head out 'of his ass and learn how the _real _world works- but you're not fuck'n worthless, so get over yourself, already…"

'_Is he try'n to cheer me up?' _Thought Jayden, his face just hinting at a smirk, he was barely able to keep it back.

'_In his fucked up, egocentric, masculine way…He's try'n to make me feel bettah, well fuck me runn'n.'_

"I know, it's just…How I feel, sometimes. It's noth'n." Norman flicked his wrist at the front of the car, his hand "pshawing" away his feelings with one hand motion. Though it wasn't as feminine as Carter would have hoped, so he'd have the best ammunition for fucking with the agent's sexuality further.

"Just me bein'…an asshole, I guess?" Jayden smirked a little lifting his head up as he took a glimpse of the driver, who also appeared to have a small grin on his face, coming and fading quickly as he watched his traveling companion glance in his direction playfully- like the initiation of a subtle game between the two partners that could only begin as such; without either really admitting it.

Carter chuckled a short bit under his breath, keeping his eyes on the road as he got behind a Prius, glancing with some renewed optimism as he witnessed the slight blue appearing on the horizon- the heralding of a new day on it's way.

"So you admit it, eh?"

Norman shrugged in a heavily obvious manner, his body relaxing into a state so loose, he felt he might as well turn to liquid and soak into the car seat. The attitude in the car suddenly became so casual, so everyday, so…pleasant. Like he was protected- in good company…Shouldn't have a care in the world. Was this what it was like when he let Carter just steamroll over him? For some reason, it didn't feel as emasculating as he thought it would.

"Sometimes, I'ma even bigga'h asshole than you!" He stated, leaning against the seat and sighing deeply, letting his body sink further into the seat cushion, head coming about a quarter of the way down further then it was meant to. Anymore, and he'd have to unbuckle his seat belt to fully turn into goo at the strangely comfortable air Blake's presence had conjured.

"Bullshit." He smiled, toothy canines practically glimmering in the faint light of the beginning dawn.

"No-one's a bigger asshole than me."

Doubling up, Norman let out a huge "Hah!" in positive entertainment- a combination of shock forming and tension unraveling. His whale-eyed look glimpsed over at Carter momentarily, face red with the humility- how often did Blake self-deprecate himself? Never, as far as he'd seen.

"Straight' frah'm the horses' mouth!" Norman yelled, his tone nearly approaching that of British man instead of the Bostonian one he developed. He slapped his knee and stared at the man from his position- laying against the door as he recovered from that moment of sheer shock and awe.

"Yeah-_yeah-_" Blake stammered, playfully, though still keeping his eyes on the road. Norman tried to interject again, but he won out.

"Yeah, I'm a _big _asshole- what're you? A tiny, shriveled little peckerwood- Fuck, I'm bigger then you-I'd bet right now."

"Aw, now we're compari'n dicks? Give m'eh a break!" Norman protested, though with a wide smile on his face, glancing over out the window with red cheeks.

"I've seen bigg'ah! Don't flatter yourself-"

Jayden's heart flipped into his chest as he felt the man's arm suddenly whip across and push him…_hard, _backwards into the seat- and he let out a gasp as the sound of shrieking tires filled his ears. The car lurched forward, and he didn't even try to concoct a reason or grasp at what had just happened until it was over in the next few seconds- A car had stopped suddenly up ahead, something that you just didn't _do _on a highway, let alone a turnpike. Luckily enough, Blake had been paying attention, and nailed on the brakes right away. Sure, the car obviously skid a good bit, but he was quick enough on the draw to stop it just in time.

"Fuck!" Carter yelled in the loudest tone one could imagine.

"Stupid bitch-What the fuck is wrong with you? Learn how drive, _asshole!"_

Flipping the red Prius off with his right hand, he watched as the car's red break lights finally let up and she took off once again, albeit slowly. It wasn't until Carter himself lurched forward suddenly, from both impatience and frustration- that he saw a dead deer splattered on the road, it's body scraped across what had to easily be eight or so feet, becoming nothing more then a streak of blood and guts with the small ruminants of a body at the end- a stain, really.

Yet Blake didn't remove his arm until just then, not realizing what he had done. It was instinctive, really- though he'd hadn't done it to somebody in years. Of _course _he knew the seatbelt would hold a grown human being back, of _course _he had an airbag to protect someone even if he didn't, but that didn't matter at all when he felt a someone in his passenger seat shift forward suddenly, his instincts telling him that Jayden would go flying through the windshield if he wasn't careful-

Except Blake didn't do that to another human being, be they male or female, in fifteen years or so. When Ash sat next to him, there was no moment of sudden protection, no concern for his well being if he nailed on the brakes. Just the worry for himself and whether the brakes were fucked up from the sudden stop. Not even the hookers or other such one-night-stands he'd driven back to a bed somewhere. Not since the last real woman in his life walked out on him, did he hold back someone from the impossible-yet still concerning concept of having one's head go through a windshield despite all the precautions.

For Jayden, however, the experience was altogether…different, and confusing to say the bare minimum. He felt that sudden, intensely strong and guarding arm pressing against him, and he found himself taken aback by the strength it possessed. Not just in terms of actual muscle power, or his sheer testosterone-driven machismo, fueling his physical form to cause far more damage then what was theoretically even possible- no, it was the urgency, the force, and the overall sense of pure peace that seemed to come over the young, drug-addicted agent. As that arm had grabbed him, pushing him backwards into his seat and forcing him to sit there against it- he had never felt so protected in all his life.

Secured against that seat for all but a few seconds, his chest rose and fell at an exilerating rate as he struggled to understand the situation; upon seeing the car stopped in front of him, as well as Blake's attitude and crass words, he could only breathe against that strong arm as it clutched him close to that seat, cherishing him like a piece of precious cargo. The agent voiced no objections and yielded no protests, seeing as how he hadn't felt that defended in years. Many, _many _years. After all, the general consensus was that he simply didn't feel _worth _being protected in such a way.

Then as Blake passed the 'dumb bitch' in the Toyota, he shot the nasty teenage driver a dirty look as he kept right on going, moving into the next lane and around the large mess on the road- and removed his arm. Jayden couldn't help but feel disappointed. Now there was nothing, pure, hollow emptiness that seemed to reverbate forever as his heart hammered in his head, breath hitching as suddenly the world was back to it's dangerous, miserable state.

"Sorry- I, uh…It's a bad habit…Used to have a car that had bad breaks…" He partially lied.

Yes, Carter had indeed, at one time, had a car whose breaks would be delayed. He would quite often hit them, only to see his current girlfriend go rocketing forward, unprepared for the swift and violent reaction. It would always feel better for them to receive a warm, manly hand around their waist as it held them fast. Except he hadn't done it in years, mostly because he hadn't _dated _in years- not because his car buying ventures had been better. Christ, had Norman been a girl, he probably would have tried to cop a feel to boot. Wouldn't be the first time.

There was something very obviously wrong in this situation, however. Norman was a man- as in, had a penis, a set of balls, no tits- he could go on. As much as he could joke and fuck around with the man's sexuality, call him feminine and a goddamned fairy queen faggot all day and night- there was no denying he was really a male. Though as troubling as the agent's gender was, nothing was quite as bad as showing any sort of affectionate, preening, brotherly love towards that bureaucratic douche from Washington…

But fuck, he couldn't help it. He was starting to feel a bond forming between them, an allure, a desire to be and feel closer to his steadily more likable, charismatic persona. The bleeding heart act Norman just pulled had worked, despite his own callous nature, he found himself sympathizing with the brown-haired, blue-eyed agent. If it wasn't for the fact that Blake found himself feeling just as useless and shit-on as the agent had expressed, he just might have stopped and kicked him out the fucking door himself, leaving him to rot on the highway. Weakness was something an alpha male like him had a hard time tolerating, though it wouldn't be the first time Blake had become a figurative shoulder to lean on.

He was there for Ash when his first wife left him, as a drinking partner and love mentor in general; he was there for his latest Ex-girlfriend when her dad died of cancer, sharing his own story to assure her that she wasn't alone. Other girlfriends had felt his arms around them, holding them tight and promising them everything would be better, he would fucking _make _it okay, as far as Blake was convinced he could move mountains and part the red fucking sea.

The main point, however, was that Jayden wasn't right. He wasn't some worthless desk jockey from the Capital that was snooping around their office, as much as he didn't want to admit it. He was indeed, a tried-and-true FBI agent, he'd give him that. A smart motherfucker, for sure, just not street smart, overzealous, overbearing, and arrogant to a fuck'n "T". Jayden was an asshole, that he'd think he'd never admit. That small admission, even if in jest, made him respect him just a little more.

"It's okay…don't worry about it…" Jayden readjusted himself in his seat as he looked down at his own feet, briefly glancing over to catch the lieutenant's face.

'_Fuck, this is awkward…' _Christ, he needed something to do! He despised not having anything to work with, no puzzles to solve or vast mysteries to unravel. It had always seemed like his brain was moving so much faster then the rest of him, traveling at the speed of light while his corpse of a frame lagged behind severally, unable to tend to his Tripto or ARI addictions, and reacting thusly.

"You alright?" His voice was husky as he shifted in his seat again, something they both seemed to be doing a lot of lately. Jayden assumed it was from being uncomfortably close to another in such a close environment for so long.

"Yeah- the deer didn't look so good though, eh?"

Blake was no stranger to dead things, let alone dead deer. Not just from his youth, but from any trip even remotely on the outskirts of rural. Deer in Pennsylvania were like fucking rats, they ventured where they weren't allowed, ate trash and shit everywhere- except rats couldn't cause a car to be massively totaled, resulting in serious injuries and possibly death.

"Fuck'n deer. They're everywhere around here…" He commented, a small 'courtesy laugh' letting past his lips as he scratched his goatee with one hand.

"'Specially this time of the year…Breeding season, dumb bucks runn'n front of cars all the time. Chas'n does. Stupid animals…"

The lieutenant stammered a little, the upcoming nervousness of the day ahead beginning to take its toll, the stress of the almost-car wreck, this quarrelsome "relationship" between two fully grown men with some sort of odd Shakespearean injection of ghosts and goblins- oral sex with a dead man? Sometimes he'd wondered if he had been put into coma and was experiencing the wildest, longest and most detailed wet dream ever to take place.

"Animal instinct." Norman shrugged, his tone muted and practically nonexistent.

"What, you mean fucking?"

"Naw, not just that- somethin' has to make a deer cross a road like that, full of traffic…It's gotta be strong, it's gotta be there for a reason-"

"Yeah, and look what it did to him." Carter half-laughed, half stated as a matter of fact.

"If there weren't so many of 'em, they'd all be dead with 'instincts' like that…"

Norman found himself becoming just slightly irritated, it seemed every time he tried to explain something to raven-haired, flat-faced dog of a man- it just bounced off. Like the old childhood rhyme- he was rubber, and Norman felt like goddamn glue.

"All's I'm tryin' to say Cartah, is that no mattah how dumb that deer was, it's instincts were so strong that it sent it across a busy highway. It was willin' to do en'ethin'- absolutely en'enethin', to get what it wanted. Fuck, it was probably so stupid it didn't even know what _'it' _was!"

"Until it found it's doe?" Blake joked, "Then it was pretty fuck'n obvious, wasn't it?"

Jayden shrugged lightly at he stared forward, his eyes focused again on the road. Right now, he just wanted to avert his eyes from the man he was forced to share the car with. This conversation, one he wasn't even intending on starting, was turning awkward.

He wanted to go on and on about the psychology, the ingrained psychosis of desire, lust, affection, and infatuation. Though this would have been lost on Blake- regardless, he knew he should give the man more credit, he'd seen his inner workings to a certain point, and knew he wasn't stupid so much as ignorant. Set in his ways, a dinosaur in a far too free-thinking time for him to handle. At least, not yet. Maybe he could change the man in blue? Turn him into a creature acceptable enough to at least enjoy his company, perhaps even crave it.

"It's deepa'h then that, even…If they're en'ethin' like human beings, trust me…It's deepah then that."

Somehow, the cop didn't think so- wait, were they talking about deer fucking this whole time? Jesus fucking Christ! Who gave a shit? He mentally kicked himself in the balls for even taking this conversation further then it should have went. Though he did suppose that it was far more then about two deer doing the nasty- but about something else entirely. He had hoped that Norman wasn't going to drug him, fuck his brains out, then try to rationalize it in some sort of sick psychological ploy. It wasn't unusual for straight men to find gay men predatory- and he'd always eye Norman as a potential rapist, not much would change his mind.

"I'll have to take your word for it, then." Carter mumbled, wishing to end this discussion.

"Let's just both agree- a guy will go a long way for his piece of ass."

A lovely, almost pleasant laugh erupted from the passenger's side, and Blake couldn't help but let himself smile deep when he got the little bureaucratic asshole from Washington to finally loosen up.

"That's a good way to put it." Norman smiled, somehow- the words were perfect, a simplifying of all of his theorical prose and complex scientific terms, and it pretty much summed it up in a way even that bullish man could grasp. On the Origami Killer case, had Blake decided to at least acknowledge his words instead of shrugging them off as both asinine and utterly wasteful- he might actually be _alive _today. Though the last thing he wanted to be right now was bitter.

"You're one smart sonuva bitch, Cartuh!"

The words made the supposed antichrist grin maliciously, a Cheshire, wide smile that reached from ear to ear. Obviously, it was a curse made to be affectionate, as a term of endearment. Oddly enough, he felt himself wanting to sponge that up, and it felt good inside his gut, it felt radiant. His white, vibrant smile and piercing canine teeth seemed to beam out as he made a short, almost haughty glance towards the agent. Whom, he may add, was sitting back in his seat with a reddening face, and a sly grin on his thin yet surprisingly plump, almost pink lips.

"Bout fuck'n time you realized that."

Rolling his eyes, Norman made himself more comfortable in the leather seat- finally feeling warm inside despite the outside's cold and clammy nature. The sun looked to be coming up just over the horizon, it's orange and yellow tinge heralding the approach of dawn. Closing his eyes, he gradually fell into solemn sleep, lulled into a near comatose rest by the constant rolling of the car's wheels below.

* * *

'_Another day, another dollar…' _

It was an ever-present thought in the young woman's mind, her usual, semi-upbeat motto when forcing herself awake from her matching semi-asleep state. If she even _got _any sleep, that was.

Madison Paige pursed her lips just slightly, reaching up to rub the back of her neck as she yawned wide- tired as all fuck, really. Always. Despite running the gambit between psychologist, therapist, sleep specialist…They did little for her complex, and apparently unique insomnia. Triggered, she knew, from a myriad of life experiences. The most recent being the Origami Killer- though the most traumatic was still that damned incident in Iraq. She had watched a woman die, powerless to stop it, getting so close but never _quite _doing it- repeated over again and again in her nightmares.

'_You helped save Shaun's life, Mad. Be easier on yourself.'_

Well, that was true, wasn't it? She helped acquire the identify of the Origami Killer, arriving at the warehouse just in time to help Ethan out into the swarm of police officers to prevent him from being shot. Truth be told, she was probably more responsible for saving Ethan's life than that of his son; but she wasn't about to split hairs.

So why wasn't she able to get any real sleep? Shouldn't the act of helping save the child effectively right the scales of justice? Grant her good karma in the eyes of the sleep-gods and in general put her mind at ease? It didn't seam to be the case. The life of that Iraqi woman, along with all the other victims she'd seen either die or already deceased wouldn't be expunged all-so-quickly with the rescue of one solitary child.

'_Ethan. Damn, I wonder if __**he's**__ sleeping right now…At least he knows his son is safe- with…her.'_

When Madison had first met Ethan's wife, Grace, she had expected it to be one of two things. Either she'd be so overwhelmed with joy upon finding their son that she simply wouldn't care about her being with her husband, or she may even be grateful for her assistance, acting nothing except delirious with gratitude.

It was something altogether…different. Unexpected, really. When they were introduced, Grace seemed a bit taken aback by the younger, more attractive and toned woman that had been with her husband. Even if Ethan was still behind bars, a potential relationship was the first thing in the mind of the apparently easily rattled Grace Mars. She gave her the sort of greeting and smile that Madison knew full well was fake, and her words reminded the journalist of a two-faced bitch she used to work with when she first started at the newspaper. Actually, the term 'passive-aggressive cunt' came to mind, but Madison herself did hate that word, so she'd rather not use it, even if it did fit rather accurately.

'_What did he ever see in her, anyway?'_

Of course, that was a stupid question and she knew it. Obviously, there had to be _something_ there for them to have married and had two children; though Madison had to question how strong that bond had to be for her to drop him like a hot potato after they lost Jason. The whole story made her heart clench up, her body feel hollow, empty and decrepit inside. Yet another horror story to keep her awake at night.

Swinging her feet over the bed, she forced herself to stand up on her svelte legs, her grey panties and simple, one-piece bra her only clothing. Cracking her back, she let her feet take her shakily across the cold, biting floor. She would attempt to go back to sleep in a few hours, it was a way for her to try and pack in as much sleep as possible. If she was lucky, she could get six hours of rest in her day by doing this…_If _she was lucky. Two-hour increments tended to be just enough to make her dream without thinking of the murders, sex trafficking, the war in Iraq, the Taxidermist, and now…The Origami Killer. At least now, she could rest somewhat knowing that Scott Shelby was dead. So was Leland, though, and that didn't stop him from haunting her bedroom at night.

At least the shadows weren't as common as they used to be, the common nightmare of her apartment being invaded was now a bit more rare. She knew from a dream specialist that such a nightmare was actually a physical manifestation of her insecurity- which was great and all, except she still wasn't sure how to make the men dressed in somber, absolute black go away.

She walked through the doorway- the remains, like her entire apartment, of a former office building. It had used to be a small business, they dealt with lingerie of all things- she remembered finding a few racy bits when she moved in, she still had them despite never really trying them on or attempting to even consider wearing them. It simply wasn't in her nature, however, to throw potentially useful things away. What if she had to play her way into another man's hands again? Fuck, Paco wasn't the first, he wouldn't be the last- Mad had a history of using her body to get the top story, shying just short of actual prostitution. Though she was lucky, extremely so- to not be raped. Even if the incident with Paco was far too close for her tastes. Stripping down to all but her panties was both degrading and humiliating- not feeling nearly as sexually powerful as she imagined herself.

The apartment itself had only just been partially renovated. Several things she kept just for nostalgic value, she absolutely loved the architecture. She didn't exactly _lie_ to Ethan about being a photographer, it was indeed a favorite hobby of hers, finding buildings especially of the modern age and design to capture on film, using it to supplement her journalism career. Today she was planning on uploading and editing some of them, sending them in so that she could finally feel useful again. The paper, needless to say, certainly wasn't expecting her back for a while. Besides her initial report she sent in days ago, they had given her at least a month to collect her bearings.

Not that it mattered; she couldn't stop writing the rough draft of her book. It was her fist-hand account of the Origami Killer investigation, though she had just barely scratched the surface. She would have to dig deep, interviewing nearly everyone she could find. Police, the FBI-

*Bang-bang- BANG!*

Madison could have sworn she jumped straight up into the air a good three feet. She gasped in a high pitch, grasping her chest with her hand as her heart sped up to it's max inside her torso. Instantly, she began to hyperventilate, blinking rapidly as she tried to recover from such a frightful awakening. Christ, she was _awake _right now!

With some hesitation, she softly padded over towards the door, jumping up on the small landing and sneaking towards the door as quiet as she could. It wouldn't be the first time somebody came to her door this early, but it certainly was the most urgent, nearly frightening one. Peering out the peep-hole, she did so in a way that resembled a gopher slowly peaking it's head out of it's burrow, unsure if something was ready to devour it the minute it was seen.

Two men, that was the instantaneous reaction she first found. For obvious reasons, Madison had a slight fear of men ever since she was little- her dad wasn't exactly the best with keeping his hands to himself. Luckily enough, he was removed from the situation rather quickly, unable to do anything serious. She'd been distrustful for a long time after that, Sam and Ethan really being the only ones to find their way comfortably inside her life. Not that she hadn't had her boyfriends and serious relationships, though she was simply never able to let herself fully feel at ease.

The man in front, the loud one who apparently knocked at her door- was a rather frightening looking gentlemen in professional attire, a suit that was pressed perfectly, jet-black with a white dress shirt and dark red tie. The jacket surrounding him was quite looming, a trench coat that sunk all the way to his knees. He was glancing down at his watch, and it was obvious to the young woman that he was rather impatient. His ears were large and stood away from his face, his hair so short it appeared recently shaved, and eyes so dark they nearly rivaled his suit in intensity.

Now the other man behind him seemed somewhat different, a tall, nearly lanky man that wore a brown suit, a thick but short hairdo with striking blond hair, pale skin, and a spiral wire dangling from his ear. He seemed less interested then his partner in her door, looking off to the side as he dug his hands in his pocket.

"Who's there?"

She willed to make her voice as strong as possible, even if by all means, she was positively terrified. Who were these guys? The mafia? She'd seen cops before- government officials…somehow, they seemed far more…frightening? Intimidating? She couldn't be quite sure, but her instincts encountered enough psychopaths to see trouble looming.

"Richard Crawford, FBI. Sorry to bother you, Miss Paige- we just need a word with you."

He spoke against the door, leaning into it, to make sure his lightly British tone was audible enough. Pulling away, she swallowed and bit her bottom lip.

"Show your badge…" She ordered, gathering up all the courage she could. The girl wasn't stupid, she wouldn't just let anybody inside her apartment, especially at this hour.

The agent didn't seem at that bothered by the request. Without missing a beat, he reached down and seemed to fish his badge from his wallet, displaying it proudly to the peep-hole as he looked away, seeming more interested in the remote corners of the hallway then the actual situation. It was an FBI badge, alright. Though she supposed it could be fake- couldn't that always be the case? What were the circumstances if she simply said no?

"Now's not really a good time…" She stammered, still unsure. "I'm not dressed."

"We'll give you a few minutes there, Miss Paige. I will warn you, we have a _very_ tight schedule, I'm afraid we need to speak to you as soon as possible..."

'_Damn it! These guys mean business…'_

She cursed inwardly as she jogged away from the door, making a bee-line for her bedroom area. Ripping open the bottom drawers, she acquired a pair of gray jogging pants and a loose-fitting long sleeve T-shirt. It hung off her shoulders, displaying just the tops as they threatened to peak out completely. Looked like shit, for sure, but at this moment, she was more concerned with not getting her ass in trouble with the federal government.

The brief thought crossed her mind to call the cops…Worst that could happen, they'd all have to come in and question her. Or they'd show the men in blue their credentials and asked to be left to their investigation. Though something also told Madison that it would be a tremendous amount if time wasted if her thoughts were untrue, and according to these agents, they didn't have time to waste. That would make them quite upset, and make things harder for her.

Getting her handgun had crossed her mind, the last time she used it was at Paco's "interrogation"; yet decided being armed while being interviewed by two federal agents was an obviously bad idea. It didn't stop her from memorizing the firearm's last location, still snuggled safely in her purse, sitting on the table.

Heart flying about in her chest, she walked up and unlocked the door, swinging it open as she beheld the two in their non-fish-eyed glory. The British gentleman in front nodded and gave a curt smile; thanking the girl as he strode inside, hands in pockets as his jacket seemed to frame his figure. She noticed a horrible scar on his neck, easily reaching around his throat. Someone could have very well attempted to give the man a Columbian necktie at some point- and the fact that he was up and walking around at this point made her feel icy to the bone. Any man that could survive an injury like that was obviously not messing around with anything in particular, not most certainly her.

His companion followed, his pace faster as he strode past them both. Now, the other man's presence seemed altogether difference. Ethereal- almost. Like a phantom that chased around his master like a shadow. There was something wholly creepy about him, and Madison was afraid that the disdain in her face showed itself a bit too easily.

"Oh, this is Dr. West, he'll be joining us…Don't mind him, he's here to take notes, is all."

Making no eye contact with the girl, West seemed more fascinated in Madison's apartment, taking to staring out the window with his hands behind his back. Thick, dark matching trench coat reaching down past his knees as he seemed fascinated by God-knows what below.

The polite thing, of course, would have been to offer the men something to drink, to have a seat, yet she decided to forgo all formalities as she instead jumped nearly to the point. She shrugged a little as Crawford walked forward, completely at home, it seemed, stepping up onto the landing with fluid ease, proceeding to have a seat on her couch. It made her incredibly uncomformable, and she was sure her face and body language communicated it.

"So…What are you here for? I was just getting ready to head back to bed- " She partially lied.

"How much sleep have you been getting lately, Miss Paige?"

She was obviously taken aback; not hiding it whatsoever to the frightening intruder. Her head jerked back and her mouth parted in surprise, closing it as she mussed with her long sleeves, looking down as she pulled at the fabric that extended beyond her fingers.

"I…I'm sorry?" It came out with a laugh, not quite believing what the man was implying- how did he know about her insomnia?

"You're an insomniac- correct? That's what all your doctors seem to think."

Madison felt slightly relieved- so these weren't some sort of sick stalkers, they just…talked to her doctors…Wait, that wasn't any better at all! Why would they do that? Why was she suddenly worth pursuing like this? Oh no, this was it…She was finally going to get it for snooping where she didn't belong, journalists were always such an easy target…

"Yes," She nodded, talking a few steps as she watched her feet. "I am. For a few years, now…Why?"

"Ah, no reason…" Crawford seemed to throw the topic away, using a shooing gesture as his hands waved it away with some fuss implied.

"…Just, curious is all. I'm interested in your well-being, miss Paige. That of your lover, too."

'_Lover? Was he talking about…Shit, Ethan? We only had sex once! We're not…it can't be-'_

"I do believe Mr. Mars is…somewhat stabilizing in prison? He's been evaluated by some psychologists- medical doctors…they want to make sure he's not a threat to the public, you know? If only…Well hell, I do wish I had that kind of...authority to let that poor man out of prison- I think it's obvious that Mr. Mars is quite innocent and is not a danger to _anybody, _not even himself. Right, Miss Paige?"

At a loss for words, Madison wet her lips with her ruby tongue before she finally opened her mouth;

"Why are you _here, _Mr. Crawford? Surely, if you wanted to talk to Ethan, you would have just seen him yourself, right?"

She didn't exactly like the way she said that, and could tell that the agent sitting right before her didn't exactly care for it, either. Yet that didn't particularly mean he was offended, and instead seemed abashed, giving a slight laugh as he glanced down at his watch briefly, then back up with an odd shit-eating grin on his face.

"Of course, and we will-we will. We actually just had a talk with Lieutenant…Lieutenant…What was his name-! Blake- Carter Blake. You've…heard of him? Met him? Was...intimate with him? For an interview, perhaps?"

Immediately offended, the brunette-haired woman stepped up on the landing, looking over at him with a venomous rage at her helm.

"I don't know where you get your _sources_, Agent Crawford." She spat, her cobra tongue at it's full force.

"…But I never touched him- or anybody _else_ for a favor- in my_ life_."

Crawford looked a bit more serious this time, at a slight standstill now that the prey he'd been batting about had finally caved, showing a hint of emotion besides distress. She was pissed! Lovely, he did like his girls with just a touch of piss and vinegar. Too bad he wasn't exactly in the mood for a good fuck. Something told him West wasn't, either.

"Of course not, Miss. Paige, of course not…"

Blake was a ploy- he'd loved throwing that in. Madison was a bit full of it on that last one, not that she was a whore, running around all over creation blowing men for interviews and top story opportunities, but it had happened a few times. Especially in her earlier years. Ah, but live and let live.

"…Though I must say, Denny Barry and Arthur Jermyn would say otherwise…Gave quite convincing accounts, they say you got this thing you do with your tongue-"

Madison was between horror and the furthest possible rage one could feel. Her face flashed red from embarrassment- Christ, they knew what happened with _them? _It was right after college, she was just messing around…How'd they know? Why did they care what she did with a few college friends almost ten eight years ago?

"I thought that would get your attention." Noticing the sudden look of pure shock that flashed over her face, quite like the lightening in a thunderstorm.

"Let me make myself crystal clear, darling." Standing up, he put his hands in his deep pockets as he nonchalantly strode towards her, sighing heavily as he began to once more approach the dark-eyed beauty.

"We know everything about you, everything you ever did, every place you've been, job you had, man you've_...been _with_..." _He emphasized, beginning to walk closer to her, the hair very visibly going up on the back of her neck.

"…But we also _know _you were quite involved in the Origami Killer case-"

"Big deal, it was all over the news." She interrupted, swallowing a large lump in her throat.

"Why are you bothering me about it?"

She got that strength from the pure hate she was developing towards this man. Someone she found absolutely intimidating the minute she heard the knock at the door. Her skin crawled and a body quivered as he laughed a bit in his throat, circling her as he came up behind and placed his hands on her arms- his grip powerful and hands freezing, even more frigid then the air outside. Another chill as his breath hit her ear- it was cold. Freezing almost. A sense of overwhelming revulsion filled her, and she found herself nearly doubling over from nausea, her head spinning. What was it with her and attracting creeps the world over? Ever since she was little, it seemed the weirdoes were pulled to her like a goddamn pervert magnet.

"Because 'yah saw too much, fit thing. You know what all those Hollywood picture shows always say...The one's where somebody sees too much...Someone always shows up to take..._ care_ of the 'situation'? Eh?"

The journalist found herself more angry then terrified at the threat, a rarity for her. A rarity for most anybody. She found it a bit odd that he spoke of movies being "picture shows", when the hell was the last time anybody even said that? It threw her off base, squelching the terror in her gut.

Feeling the corpse of a man pull away, he walked towards her computer, noticing it's conveniently "on" state.

"Let me cut to the chase, sweetheart. You've never formally met Norman Jayden. Instead, you saw him right before he died, right after he lead away Mr. Scott Shelby. The poor thing got turned into a pate of sorts, quite disgusting."

Her face became paler by the second as he once again stood in front of her. His stand was dominant and repressing, reminding her of a first-class dictator, capable of everything and anything at the bark of a genocidic order. No mercy, no degree of real sympathy, as long as the work was done. As long as his vision, whatever that may be, was intact. There was no doubt in her mind, if he was such a leader, he'd be a world power in no time; God help us all.

"…Of course, that's common knowledge. Already in the police reports, the public record, already out for the whole world to see…Regrettable, but manageable- However, there _is_ one issue I'll need to speak to you about…"

'_Shit! What? What is it! For God's sake, spit it out!'_

"I'm sure you'll mention both Lieutenant Blake and Agent Jayden in your book, correct? I'm sure you'll want to interview the lieutenant, gather as much information as possible. Sensible, of course- you _are _a journalist- and I'm also quit sure you already have _piles _of information on them both, already? In notes, perhaps? Or maybe that little computer of yours?"

He pointed to it off-handingly, as if not acting that his real plans laid there. Of course, Madison did have very little info on both men, mostly some things that she was sure wouldn't be particularly incriminating. Some reports of Blake engaging in less-then-legal ways of obtaining confessions and arrests, and Norman Jayden's apparent sexuality. The former was hear-say mostly, shady information from unreliable sources. While the later was more like gossip. It would hardly get front-page attention, let alone something the FBI would want to seize, or was it? Why else would they be here?

Well, there _was _one thing. Despite using most of her new free time assembling information and doing her best to clear Ethan's name to the police and media- she'd stumbled upon a few strange reports. Someone had apparently seen Lieutenant Blake yesterday outside of a clothing store- no big deal, except there was somebody with him. Someone who was dressed in a wet shirt and pants, and nothing else. Again, odd, but not as odd as that person fitting the description of a very disheveled and strung out Norman Jayden. Who was, by all means, supposed to be buried today. She had considered strongly going to his funeral, but on top of not being invited, she felt it wasn't her place.

Of course, it was rather ridiculous. How many people claimed to have seen Elvis, Jim Morrison, or just about any celebrity or near-celebrity after they died before their time? Jayden had became a sort of martyr after his death, his face all over the news after his body was found. If it wasn't for him keeping Shelby busy, they never would have been able to save Shaun. It didn't even feel logical enough to attempt and contact the police for an interview with Carter Blake. He'd probably consider it a waste of his time, and she needed to talk to him about Ethan more than anything, and that had ended up being just about impossible.

Regardless, she had the information on her computer. She was going to incorporate it into her book as a note about the public's apparent obsession with the case. So fascinated, they invented heroes that never died. Even ones that hung out, apparently, with those they fought with before their supposed death. Among thr report, there was info about the witness, his phone number…

'_Oh my God…' _

That was it. It had to be. What else could it be? Did they already know about the witness? Were they covering something up? Why the hell would they do that, Norman Jayden was just a profiler, wasn't he? What was the fascination?

Staying silent, she decided it would be best to deny everything. She couldn't afford to have her computer and notes confiscated, not just financially- but professionally. That didn't include having her whole apartment rifled through, top to bottom, including discovering quite a few reports obtained from less-than-legal means.

"I don't keep any of my work at home." She lied.

"Everything is at my office, you can go and check if you'd like."

The air in her studio apartment felt as though it just grew icy, her own nervousness getting to her as she began to rub her arms, goose bumps forming rapidly. She didn't want to look in Crawford's eyes, so she instead turned around, finding West quiet as a mouse, but now moving about her apartment, dragging his finger along her large table and strolling casually. He looked like some sickly, depraved creeping death moving ever closer.

"I know." Richard's tone was impatient, telling her something he was very aware of.

Madison's face must have drained of color, because she sure as hell felt it happen- going almost ghost white.

"We were there earlier- West and I. Sam was very helpful- showed us your computer, logged us in…I will say your experience in Iraq was quite enthralling. Too bad you couldn't save that woman-"

"_Fuck _you."

Crawford only smiled, it stretched across his face like a stain appeared so suddenly to ruin a carpet- or milk dropped on the floor. His teeth were just as white, too, almost eerily so. It struck her that the man most likely had those lumineers- porcelain covering his teeth. An agent, of all people? He didn't seem vain by any other means...

"Well pardon me, Miss Paige. But I do believe being fucked is _your _area of expertise, is it not?"

Rage flashed across her eyes, she said something to the effect of "Son of a bitch!" as she lunged at him, only being able to take the insults so far- until even her usually calm and compiled atmosphere fell apart at her carefully woven and composed seams.

She knew what was going to happen, so there was no particular surprise when the agent grabbed her by her slender arms, a gasp in her throat a she was pushed back. Her feet tripped up with themselves as she backpedaled, a bookshelf against her wall finding her back as she heard the knick-kicks and picture frames rattle with the force. Her bladder damn near let loose- she had to urinate since she got up.

Cold air at her face again, she shuttered and came closer to pissing herself in fear. His visage came nearer, teeth gritting as she felt that breath hit again and again as his panting, over-exerted exhalations seemed to blow everywhere and cause her hair to flutter. His breath smelled horrible, and she turned her head as she pressed her lips together along with her eyelids, giving a visible shudder to try and throw him off.

Madison felt the nausea creep into her stomach as she did her best to keep it down. Now was _not _the time to get sick, despite the throbbing of her heart to keep her body tense and ready. The fleeing thought of being raped filled her mind, after all it's always been a fear of hers, and of course, for her it seemed to want to come to reality compulsively. Like a magazine subscription that kept coming to your house that you never fucking wanted.

"Still think this is another nightmare, Miss Paige?" He hissed, and she could have sworn she heard his saliva froth in his open mouth. "Think I'm gonna slit your throat? Beat...perhaps even... Rape you?" A thick knee slid up the inside of her leg, and she whimpered with fear at the thought. It stopped as it reached her crotch, pressing into her now pulsating organ between her legs. She couldn't help it- she didn't _want _it, but her body was preparing for what it considered the inevitable.

Still holding her arms, his fingernails dug into her svelte wrists before he let go, leg releasing it's hold on her womanhood as it hit the floor with a sobbering "clop" on the expensive shoes on the hard surface. Then proceeded to take a deep, shuddering and calming breath before leaning a hand against the wall. His eyes seemed to gather her in, look down and into her as she still looked away, the control in the room very obviously slanted his way since he arrived.

"Now I'm going to just give you a warning this time, sweetheart." His hidden British tone seeming to come out against his will as he rolled the last patronizing remark off his tongue.

"If I see you trying to talk to Lieutenant Blake- and I find out it's _not _about Ethan Mars, the Origami Killer case…Or fuck, if it's just about some goddamn parking tickets- You can kiss your computer and career goodbye…And that's if I'm feeling _cheery _on that particular day.._. Do we understand one another, Miss Paige?"_

Hearing her name from that vile man's mouth made her want to fly back at him. His tone was overall chauvinistic, condescending and disrespectful. He tilted his head as he finished, and without giving a second to hear her comply, he seemed to already write her off as he closed his eyes and nearly yawned, he seemed to crack his back in mid-stride back towards the center of the apartment.

"Now if you'll excuse us, we have a funeral to attend- quite rude to be late to one of those…" He trailed off, West, like the good little puppy he was, came running at his heels as Crawford opened the door to let himself out.

Just as Madison felt it safe to let out a breath, she heard him come back in through the door, putting one hand on the doorway as he leaned in.

"You know…It's a horrible thing, all those kids…" He sighed, shaking his head a bit to illustrate some feigned sympathy.

"…Drowning to death like that- one day here, the next…poof! They just disappeared... Never to be seen again. It's amazing how…someone can just be…gone, you know? Like they never existed..."

A cold chill ran up Madison's back as the sickness flooded back, felt absolutely revolted to the core. It was all the more obvious what the agent had been trying to point out to her- how easily she could be "wiped out", another missing person to be ignored and chastised by the general public, gone off the face of the Earth.

"Well, I gotta go. Sleep well, Miss Paige." Slapping the doorway in mock friendliness, he made a brief but powerful eye contact as he nosily walked down the highway, taking the steps almost jovially.

Madison closed her eyes as she felt the sweat trickle down her body, her heart jerking her body with each strong beat. Then she slid down to the floor, one foot braced up against herself while the other laid flat across the floor.

The morning sun peaked through her windows just right; angling to illuminate her oddly-sitting, sweating form as she contemplated and reflected on her near-brush with death. This time, however- she felt his breath- he wasn't fake, not a dream, wasn't a shadow. Though her senses told her otherwise.


	16. Sympathy for the Devil

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Violence**

Author's Note:** Wow. Just wow. I cannot explain how much of an incredible fucking douchebag I've been. All I can say is; I meant for this chapter to be MASSIVE, as I wanted to end it a certain way- but it just kept going and going...SO, when I got to that point, I realized it was too long and had to split it, then I had to move things around. Then real life, of course, I have to go to bed MUCH earlier then before. Then the fact that I feel the need to proof-read somewhere along the line of FOUR TIMES because I always forget something, then I look like an ass. **

**I really appreciate if anybody's actually been waiting for the update with bated breath. I'm really, truely sorry. I never once considered abandoning this story. Nor do I ever plan on it. **

**Now, I will say this chapter is different then the others, because of what happens. I did the best research I could with the budget I had (nothing), so I do apologize if there are any mistakes. Please try to let me know if you spy any.**

* * *

_"The process of delving into the black abyss is to me the keenest form of fascination." - **H.P. Lovecraft**_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

Norman didn't sleep long enough to dream- he had only been out for a few minutes and awoke with a small start. He coughed a little as he looked over, blinking rapidly as he spied Carter next to him, staring straight ahead as he sped down the highway.

"You can sleep if you want…" Carter suggested, noticing the agent had seemed almost ashamed to have been fallen asleep beside him.

"Not like I'll need you anytime soon…"

Instead of heeding his advice, the phantom that was Norman Jayden shifted and sat up fully in his seat, blinking his tired eyes as he then proceeded to yawn without any real hindrance, refusing to cover his mouth or hide the tired action.

"Naw, I'm fine…I wanna make sure ya'h get there ah'kay…"

There was a small silence that seemed to shoot the agent down, not getting a 'warm and fuzzy' feeling from his partner at all in response.

"There shouldn't be a problem- I have a map and a GPS if I get lost."

Squinting, Jayden tried to shake his head from the sudden fog that engulfed his thoughts. He felt lightheaded, and slightly nauseous. Though he took this as more of the possibility of the Percocet causing some sort of knocked-off equilibrium inside his system.

This was progress, however, there was no doubt of that. How many hours had it been since he was within the ARI world almost completely? Blake hadn't put on the device since yesterday, though it felt like forever ago. Still, even now, he remained in reality. There were a few times he lapsed back and forth- but the fact that he remained through the night was quite the step forward.

Looking down, his keen, forensic eyes spotted a piece of light blue paper stuck in the detective's glove box. It was just a sliver, and looking now he can see how he missed it at first. Without thinking about it or asking permission, he leaned forward and delicately unlatched the handle, with a small tug it opened from it's stuck position and took out the slightly creased, bent-corner pamphlet.

Blake glanced over, yet Jayden could feel that the eyes weren't so much accusing as much as worried. It was a very odd sensation coming from this man, and for a moment it made him pause. He almost said something, but instead found himself more morbidly fascinated by the pamphlet that had caused the action in the first place.

"Oh…"

His tone was a combination of muted surprise and sadness; he couldn't quite make out the title of the pamphlet at first, as it was heavily italicized. Yet it was pretty obvious once he gave it a once-over, seeing a picture of himself on the front cover, staring at him from the past. The picture was a good five years old, taken in better times, back before his life became a one-way ticket to his untimely death without much availability for a detour.

It was his funeral pamphlet. The words "A Service For Norman B. Jayden" in heavily italicized letters cresting the top, his birthday and apparent date of supposed death at the bottom. It took him a moment to fully grip the realization, the weight of what he held in his hand, and the reaction was still relayed as he turned the pages. Inside the front cover was what had to be his obituary- seeing his whole full name displayed at the top.

"Brandon?" Blake smiled, trying to add some sort of humor to the situation. "Norman _Brandon _Jayden?"

Except there was no response, Jayden was absolutely glued in a pure, un-adulterated morbid fascination as he read out his life story. About being raised in Boston, taking up school and moving to D.C. to start his career. It described him as a "brave man with an alternative lifestyle", making his single, nearly sexless life seem better then it really was. It called him a hero for dying while protecting a child, missed dearly by both friends and family.

Norman hated himself deeply as he felt tears begin to well up inside his eyes- seeing the page next to it filled with some pictures of when he was a young boy. Christmas morning with a toy red fire truck, held by his mother who at the time was at a relatively healthy weight- smiles all around. Another of him as a baby in his cradle, laying on his stomach as he was cuddled next to a stuffed teddy bear. At first he felt embarrassed that Blake had even seen these- then he realized with one powerful decision that he, in reality, just didn't give a single fuck. His family put this together, had to find these pictures and scrape them into a pile as they settled their differences and put petty things aside. The whole time, they must have been crying and mourning his untimely passing... and here he was, 'alive' to see their results.

"Perry uh…Perry gave it to me yesterday…I forgot to show you…"

He basically ignored Blake as he quickly shuffled through the pamphlet, the next page filled with photos from various family events, from holidays to simple get-togethers, his high school photos, pictures with him and friends, him with his first bike- short lived but memorable. God, even his prom picture, the girl he long since forgot even existed. His hair was curlier back then, even now it was beginning to re-instate it's original form. Though the girl was even worse, her hair teased into a ridiculous black frizz with accompanying dark red lipstick. Even now he could remember pinning the corsage to her dress with the most awkward of airs, and despite the girl's smile, she seemed more occupied with making her real boyfriend jealous. His parents, of course, loved her. Their suspicions of raising a gay child put to bed for the night.

Then there came the picture of him with his parents, him standing in-between them as they took position on the Bostonian harbor. His smile was genuine- they were getting along, for once. Trying to bury the hatchet for his benefit. It was only two years ago, and he remembered just how stressful that day may have been. Trying to wrangle and handle the two with his best effort, make them both happy yet settle their differences with his own psychological zest. Despite it all, he'd do anything to be back in that moment. Smelling the warm sea air as it came off the water and blew in from the coast, the summer air feeling lovely to his cool body as he marveled at the flower in his mother's hair and her bright smile as his Dad looped his arm around her as they took in the small shops nearby. It was temporary, of course- their accusations once again flying but days after the reunion.

They came out full-force, tears coursing down his face in near-torrents. Sniffling, he raised a hand to cup his eyes and stop the sudden onslaught of sorrow that overtook him. His eyes watered to the point where his vision looked to have devolved into an under-water world, taking in air through his nose as he tried to snort up any mucus that was ready to depart his sinuses.

"Oh _Ga-gawd…_"

Blake was put in an incredibly awkward position, looking back and forth from the crying man in his passenger seat back to the windshield in front of him to keep a decent eye on the road.

'_Fuck…' _

He should have just kept the thing on himself- though he had to admit he wasn't sure what Jayden's reaction would be. Part of him thought he wouldn't do anything at all, he seemed oddly callous about his own death at times. The only emotion he seemed to display was towards his family. Now a full-grown (dead) man was bawling in his car. Great, fucking A.

Always a cold man, he didn't offer support as much as a strange sort of warm indifference. Any words that rose to the surface seemed out of touch, and analyzed each statement as it came about. Some seemed too compassionate, too caring for their situation- better suited for a girl that just lost her parents- or even someone missing their child, and even that in itself, was rare for him. He didn't exactly offer much support to Ethan Mars when his son went missing- though in his defense, he didn't think much of it at the time. How many times had something like that happen in a typical work week, to have it be a false alarm? Enough times for it to be fucking irritating.

He could have complained that he was crying like a bitch- yet even Blake knew better. This wouldn't have been the first time that a man broke down next to him, and something told him it wouldn't be the last. Taking a long breath, he tried to ignore Norman's sobbing until he stopped, but he had a hard time completely blocking out the young man.

"Come on, now…" He tried to comfort, his eyes blinking partially closed as he leaned his head to the side, away from Norman.

Another series of words threatened to spill from his mouth, and even opened his lips to say them, before stopping himself. Nothing that he thought to say quite fit the moment. He could be a dick, he could be sensitive, and yet none of them would feel particularly accurate. Carter didn't want to appear weak in front of this adversary of his, yet didn't also want to particularly be unsupportive.

"Sahwry- I…_Fuck_…" Norman closed the pamphlet in a hurry, decorated with several wet spots from his falling tears. He threw it haphazardly in the back in a fit of self-deprecating anger.

"There's some tissues in the center console…"

Part of Norman didn't want to acknowledge what just happened; it was utterly embarrassing. His vision was still diluted by the tears, making everything appear watery and submerged. Setting himself on "auto-pilot", he reached across quickly and opened the center console, popping open the lid and receiving a whiff of some oily-old-car smell. Inside was a flat, nearly empty box of tissues, instantly recognizing them as the sort the hotel gives you with the room.

He took a couple- which was all that was left. Holding them to his nose, he focused on cleaning off any mucus that may have exited his nose, first. Then tended to his eyes with the clean sides, wiping down his cheeks. Huffing and puffing, he tried to steady his breath- yet when he blinked more tears rolled down his face as he was overcome with a surge of emotion, he couldn't get those goddamned pictures out of his head.

A hand found it's way onto his shoulder, and he jerked a little in response. Glancing over in surprise- as if anybody else was in that car with him- and found Carter looking out the windshield at the road as he rubbed his arm up and down, his grip strong, warm, and intensely powerful in more then the physical sense. It sent a warmth that spread into every corner and fiber of his body, igniting a deep seated ancient fiber of social bonding. Such an instinct made him want to touch the older man back, even against his will- The thought awkward enough to stop him from completely accepting it.

"There's a rest area up ahead…We'll stop."

His tone wasn't kind nor was it condescending, but instead simply to the point. Norman looked over - eyes moist and nose beginning to run again. He sniffled, nodding quickly as he put the used tissue to his face. At that cue, Blake released his hold on his arm, though slowly and far from repelled.

"Thanks." His pale, grayish- blue eyes downcast, he wiped his nose with the tissue as he responded, voice barely audible due to it's newly ashamed state.

Norman shook all over, feeling wholly worthless and disgusted, tears once again flowing as an endless stream of sorrow engulfed his heart alive. His face was downcast, sullen and dark as a cloudy, breathy storm lived and thrived in his eyes. The thought behind them full of absolute self-revulsion and infinite despair. All the while, the lieutenant next to him seemed to have become mute to his cause. It only made him feel worse, as the silence of Blake next to him implied that he felt wholly awkward, words unable to reach him.

Instead, he watched in slight interest as Blake put on his turn signal, then checked his mirror before moving over into the next lane. Looking out, he saw a rest stop on their side of the road. Because this was a turnpike, they couldn't get off into the general public where there would be a livid choice of restaurants and gas stations. Instead they were cut off, forced to pick from a few shoddy choices in the matter.

"They got a Starbucks here…We'll getch'a some coffee…Sober you up."

Nodding, he sniffled again, finding Carter's protecting and doting attitude slightly off-putting. Part of him felt a bit patronized; he was a grown man and didn't need to be cared for either like a child or a high-maintenance woman. Though Norman had to remind himself; he just had a _break down _in Lieutenant Blake's car, tears, sobbing and all…It was kind of hard not to say or do anything to try and do one's best to calm the situation. Still, no man wants to be caught crying, and doing so in front of such a rival was the ultimate in emasculation. Agent Jayden was no exception.

Christ, he'd probably have this held over his head for the rest of his…well, if he could call it a life. _"Hey, Norman. Remember the time you bawled your eyes out in the car like a pussy?" _He could hear it now, that condescending tone of voice and smartass sneer. He swore, he could do a dead-on impersonation of Blake at this point. It would have involved him spitting curses, scratching his balls, and turning into an obscene, deranged incredible hulk at any sign of disagreement. Carter had made himself incredibly predictable, a walking caricature.

He should have been more surprised at the man's reaction. Except, his little profiling mission of the older man had predicted at least this. Carter was a hellion, but there was no doubt to the young man's mind that the man had some demons festering down inside. When Ethan showed weakness, he was pulverized. When Norman did? He was comforted. What the hell was going on, here? What was it about himself that the lieutenant felt the need to protect? To nurture?

It felt almost disturbing, a kind of sickness crawling in his gut at the thought. He was no child, and although he detested being treated as one by this cop- he rather didn't like the alternative. Perhaps Blake had a problem with being nurtured as a child? His father perhaps lacking in this area? It was a possibility, and Norman filed it away mentally for further use. Either way, if this was what it took to make Blake be civil, he was willing to make the Philadelphian cater to his every whim if he so wanted to. He wondered just how long he could play his "grieving phantom" card for?

He watched in earnest as Carter parked his Taurus, the parking lot rather sparse but still populated by some weary travelers also starting their trips, or perhaps pulling all-night drives, stopping off for a coffee or snack. Either way, he looked them all over nervously as he parked the car in the back row, and the agent had to presume it was for security purposes.

"Recognize anyone?"

The lieutenant watched as the agent next to him seemed to glance hurriedly through tired, doped-up eyes, looking about the parking lot in a frenzy to see if by chance, anybody he even remotely knew just so happened to be on the Pennsylvania turnpike on an early Wednesday morning.

"No…No, I don't think so…"

Giving a look himself, Carter determined he was also in the clear. Norman himself being spotted wouldn't have been a big deal at all to him- but being spotted _with_ a dead man? Not good. His only plan, had he been spotted, was to disappear and try to escape. It seemed cowardly to leave him there, but in his own defense, he wasn't exactly sure what else could be done to save everything from his reputation, to his entire livelihood. Possibly even his life itself if the FBI found out.

Speaking of which, he nearly had forgotten about those two FBI assholes tailing him. Looking over towards Norman, his eyes quickly darted to him, to out the window, then back again. Breathing from his mouth, he huffed as he leaned towards him and glanced out his window, the seat leather squishing and squelching as it flexed to his movements.

"Looks clear…" Carter stated with some stress, leaning back and into his seat.

"Open the door, keep your head down…I'll put my coat over 'yah, and walk fast…"

Norman wanted to point out that they were perhaps better off acting as casual as possible, as to not attract attention. After all, they weren't that far from Philly, and chances were most of these people were weary travelers, and wouldn't be looking out for someone like him. Crimes occurred very often at such transient locations, though in their defense, people tended to be on their guard seeing as they recognized a likely trouble spot when they saw it.

But he didn't particularly have much experience sneaking around. Sure, doing Tripto in inconspicuous places had given him something to hide- yet he was lucky enough to nearly always be behind closed doors when the attacks struck. Hiding Mars had been the closest he'd ever come, and that was _enough_. He was successful only because the precinct had been massively busy, especially at that time. Perhaps, he pondered, Blake was right. He was about to trust everything in the mad cop's hands. God save them all.

"Let's go…" He muttered, after some hesitation.

Giving a final look, Carter opened the door and stepped out quickly, shutting the door as quietly as possible behind him. It was chilly out; his breath making vapor appear with each puff. He stomped around the front of the car, appearing as an angry animal as he snorted, huffed and puffed his way around. Sure, he was irritated, but Norman put him in a mood that was akin more to his typical "get it the fuck done" slant then anything. Right now, Norman was a job to get done. Christ, even when he was out of the precinct he was still working his ass off.

Norman at least had the fucking courtesy to open his door, watching him cautiously get out from the passenger seat. Looking left and right, Blake chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek as he took off his coat, feeling the slight chill to the air but deciding to ignore it the best he could. Throwing it up into the air, he watched the pain-in-the-ass huddle down and prepare for cloaking device to ensnare him.

The first thing the agent noticed was the intense stench of Blake- everything from his soap's sweet odor, to his sweat, musk, his pharamones lambasted into the coat's fabric. Against his wishes, he felt at first revulsion, then as he took a second breath, he realized there was no reason to turn away from the masculine odor, that he had been with the man for days and was smelling it this whole time- so instead he took a second, and a third as he felt himself being pushed and huddled towards what he assumed was the rest stop.

Then a fourth time, and he inhaled deep, felt a quiver in his buttocks as a jolt of energy surged up his lower back. It was almost as though he was willing to be penetrated by the very man behind him, and that terrified him even more. He coughed, choking on his breath as he sniffled and tried to ignore it, even if a slight surge began to pulse in his loins. Norman couldn't help it- he was aroused. If he had been sitting, he would have shifted in his seat to alleviate some of the sensation, but instead he simply began to walk faster. As if every step was going to somehow make the situation more right.

That hand that had been on his shoulder- it tightened. He felt his cock raise, swell, puff up and out like an organ badly inflamed by an infection. He was infected, all right- by desires for a man he really should have had nothing but contempt for. Yet even at the beginning of the case, he had told himself- even after his harsh initiation- that he had to work with this man, no matter their differences. In the interest of reasoning with these rather lovely feelings, Norman decided that now was not much different, was it?

Yeah…It was. Not long after he socked Carter in the face and had a gun pointed at him- he had found the man a lost cause. How could one reason with that? It wasn't that Norman found the man unreachable- he was simply impossible to work with. He hadn't been planning on reporting the man once the case was over, not unless something significant occurred- but it would have been more out of pity in the agent's mind rather then genuine respect. He couldn't find it in him to forgive the man for beating Ethan Mars nearly to death.

Yet none of that seemed to quell the feelings his body was giving him. As much as he hated to admit it, Carter Blake radiated pure masculinity, utter sex walking about on two legs- he smelled and walked like an alpha male- and hated it at first. Now, however, as he felt those "cock of the walk" feelings put into protecting him, he couldn't help but wrap it all up and put a bow on it. It was...desirable, attractive, it was sexy... it was…making him hard.

Blake noticed none of these as he quickly hurried Jayden into the building, a rather nice, new place that looked to have been built recently. They advertised the Jolly Rogers more then anything, but Blake wrinkled his face up with the concept of actually eating there. Though, truth be told, he was starting to get hungry again. Not insanely so, not like yesterday…But throwing up his breakfast didn't exactly fill him up.

"Almost there- come on- hurry up…"

His patience was reaching it's end, his protective, fatherly nature nearing it's breaking point. Norman seeemed confused for a moment, unable to keep step, so the arm that was postioned at his back went around his side, clutching him close under the rib cage as they came to the double glass doors.

"Anybad-ah see me?-"

"Shhh!" His "hushing" rather harsh and stabbing in the otherwise silent atmosphere. "Take it off, we're in-"

Swinging open the door, he ripped the jacket off of Norman's head completely. He knew that once inside, they'd draw more attention then when outside if he was walking around with a coat on his head. A casual observer not paying attention would have simply assumed he had been using his jacket to protect a lady friend from the beginning rains, even if it wasn't particularly heavy- not yet. The concept was amusing to him- Norman was a little woman, after all. Afraid of his hair getting wet like a little bitch-

"At least it's kinda dead in 'here."

Norman had forgotten the potiential quitky comeback that Carter may have responded, probably something to the effect of "like you?", but was quite impressed when it didn't come. It was funny to him, seeing as the cop wasn't quite as predictable as he had thought. There he went again, stumping the shit out of him.

Regardless, the expression was true. Nodbody waited in line at the Starbucks, which was directly in front of them as they entered. To the right was an ice cream parlor, Baskin Robbins to be precise, but it obviously wasn't open at this hour. It continued on to a sort of small cafeteria where the Jolly Roger lay, along the wall behind them, a map of the state of Pennsylvania and it's ajoining states. The road they traveled on was marked in red, their location displayed with the typical "you are here" label. Even from his position, he could tell they were a bit ways off. Why did this two hour drive seem to be taking forever?

'_Not the best company…' _He reasoned, but discovered that he oddly enough, didn't feel that way completely. Carter hadn't been nasty this whole trip. If anything…He was strangely comforting. Though he knew it wouldn't take much more poking to wake that bull.

"We gonna make it 'n time?" Norm asked, scratching his nose as he craned his neck down, trying to avoid eye contact. He knew his own eyes were still bloodshot.

"We should…"

Blake decided not to give the cry-baby his full attention, instead focusing on the drink menu. Starbucks and all these other fru-fru coffee shops confounded him profusely, too many goddamn options with every fucking flavor under the sun. He'd learned to adapt, to ask for the closest thing to a "normal coffee" as possibe, never mind the obscene amount of money each cup cost.

Truth be told, due to his sweet tooth, he did enjoy the occasional frothy, sugary cup of a large latte or cuppochino. He really hated drinking them in front of co-workers, however. Expeically Ash, whom made a habit of riducling such feminine drink choices. At least in front of a gay or bisexual man like Jayden, he didn't have to constantly be on alert about his masculinity. He supposed there was good side to everything.

There seemed to be a nice enough girl at the counter, she had a nice smile and wore a pair of hipster black rimmed glasses. She wasn't a skinny thing, but Blake still quickly sized her up as just plump enough to fly under his rader of woman he woman't mind fucking. Not that he planned to, or anything. At least she had a nice pair of tits for him to wake up to this fine morning.

"Hi! Can I help you?"

Letting out a quick, frustrated sigh, Blake shifted from one foot to another as he mulled that one over. Putting his hands on his hips like a confidant Playboy model, he looked up towards the menu above and sighed as a display of both frustration and a universal sign of confusion. Boy, did he _wish_ someone could help him. That would be _really _nice- and he didn't mean the coffee.

"Yeah…I'll have…Two cups of the signature roast…No, wait…One of those, and a mocha latte, make 'em both…larges, whatever you call 'em."

Fuck it. Ash wasn't here- Blake would never admit that he despised being bullied. He was no jock in high school like Jayden assumed, rather he was the butt of everyone's jokes due to his height, among other nonsensical, childish things they could come up with. Playing football was the best catharsis to move him along and allow some sort of acceptance, though his reason for leaving the sport wasn't quite like he told the younger man.

"Whipped cream on the latte?" She inquired, raising up two cups and writing some fine details on its side.

'_Fuck yes.' _Thought Blake. "Yeah- go heavy on it, would ya?" Is what he said instead.

"What's your name, sir?" She asked, her tone so polite and cheery he wasn't sure if he should be delighted or sick from the diabetis she was giving him.

"Carter…" He answered, not thinking of it. Forgetting entirely that he was supposed to be keeping a low profile whilst traveling with a dead man.

Writing his name on the cardboard cup, she passed it towards the barista, another girl but this time thin, with her dark hair up in a ponytail with gaudy eye shadow to brighten up her pallid complexion.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

She aimed it over at Jayden, who stood there with his hand to his mouth as he analyzed the map. All the crazy but true city names like "Pleasure", "Intercourse", and "Blue Balls" to just confuse-yet amuse him at the same time- still he stumbled as he was "shocked" from his stupor of concentration from the girl, and was about to talk when Carter caught him off-guard.

"Brandon." He offered.

Norman couldn't help but look over his shoulder quickly, a small blush appearing on his face and dissipating- he hated his middle name. Not quite as much as his first, but as far as he was concerned it was a completely unnecessary add-on to his already depressing status as having a 'geeky' name. Nobody was looking in his direction as he gave Blake a haughty stink-eye. Though he supposed part of it was a attmidance for his clever attempt to not only hide his identity, but take a jab at him once more. Yet even Blake wasn't looking at him, instead smirking solemy to himself as he seemed to be focused entirely on the muffins available in the case.

"Anything else?"

'_What the hell…' _He philosophically decided, then pointed to the muffins in the case.

"Two of those…" He drawled out. His early-morning, tired, irritating tone peaking through.

The girl opened the case, using a wrapper drapped over her hand to retrieve two of the large, sugar-coated chocalate chip muffins. His mouth watered at the thought- he hadn't had one in forever. Carter looked about as he waited for her to wrap said items, remembering thinking it was a little unnecessary, after all, he was just going to inhale both of them the minute he sat down. Now that he started thinking about it, his mouth began to water, body craving that sugary, sweet glucose to pump through his veins and fill him with empty calories. He wasn't particularly concerned about his weight- he had indeed been feeling quite famished lately. His stomach seemed to have oddly shrank since this whole ordeal began, but nothing more then when he'd been working long hours without food. He didn't think much of it.

He watched Norman head his way, keeping his head down while simloustanously doing his best to keep out of sight. Luckily, all the workers there seemed less interested in him and more inclined to get their morning routines finished. He watched as the girl totaled up his big order, and was surprised when he took out is wallet and began to pay cash.

"I'll pay 'yah back, for the coffee-"

"Nor-Uh Brandon…You're fuck'n joking, right?"

Norman went to speak, but instead averted his eyes as a small smile formed. Blake was buying him breakfast- or was it brunch? He was torn between being shamed or feeling those little butterflies in his stomach when somebody decided to cut him a break. A guy never bought him anything before, save for the occasional office secret Santa or family occasions. He was a bit unsure what to do.

Instead, he watched in a slight curiosity as he passed a good bit of money over to the cashier, to which he was rung up and given change. Both men, one after another were called over to the counter as their drinks were prepared. Their names being announced was a bit disconcerting for both, but they quickly took their drinks and sat down, Carter taking with him his brown paper bag.

There was a loaded silence as Jayden scratched the back of his neck- really hoping that they had never stopped and could have just kept going. Somehow, he found himself antsy, wanting this to be done and over with. He couldn't help but feel they were wasting time here, second by second ticking away, like a clock he just couldn't hear. Jayden sniffled again, looking towards a small table next to a window overlooking the busy turnpike. His face still felt damp, no doubt his eyes red from his small breakdown. He couldn't believe he'd actually done that- he'd hoped Blake would never bring it up, but something told him he was thinking too kindly of the man at this point. Blake was a monster, he'd seen it himself. The agent should have known better then to let a few kind words and free coffee change his mind.

The table was modestly sized, and Jayden felt a bit uncomfortable as Blake decided that he was, indeed, going to sit down right across from him. Their elbows brushed, and Jayden couldn't help but feel extremely abashed and awkward as he moved them back, though still quite enchanted by both the smell of his black coffee, the muffins, and the pro-bono, going dutch act by the homicide detective.

"Thanks 'fah the coffee…" Jayden thanked with an absolute shy, defeated tone, gave the cop the smallest of smiles as he glanced at him only briefly, then looked down- getting just a second of the man's eye contact as he shifted in his seat, watching him also grab his cup gently and attempt to get a sip.

"Don't sweat it…Not like you have any cash on 'yah, anyway." It took Blake a minute to respond, waiting until he swallowed the mass of muffin and took a sip of his slightly warm, cream-filled coffee beverage to wash it down.

Watching the agent look down solemnly, he began to once again analyze the agent's body posture. Not quite unlike he'd do to a suspect in the hot seat. He was only aslightly confused as to wether he was feeling ashamed or humbled, eye contact waning as he studied the steaming cup of coffee in front of him, neslted warmly in his hands.

"When we get to an ATM, I'll get'cha the money…"

To think, he'd nearly forgotten…Jayden did owe him a substantial amount of money for this "deal". Though truth be told, he found himself trying to think of inventive ways to spend that much cash. Yet Jayden was becoming an expensive little "pet", his feeding and upkeep may just climb in price if he continued to stick around. In the end, that money was going to be as much as Jayden's as it was his. Somehow, it didn't quite feel the same.

"Yeah…We'll do it when we get this shit all swept up…No hurry."

He ate with some restraint, not wanting to look like a savage pig in public, or even spew food particles all over the man he was sitting across from. Though as that thought came to mind, that would be pretty fucking entertaining.

It was put in a way that wasn't so much grateful as it was almost condescending. How many times had he gotten Ash coffee without even thinking about it? Or the other way around- Perry routinely bought everyone coffee if the situation took them all out from the precinct. It was a given, with almost no gratitude involved. Besides, the way he saw it, Norman was going to be coughing up a lot of money. Surely, he could let some coffee slide. Though he had to admit the idea of being given all of this money had begin to lose it's luster.

Sure, like nearly everyone, Blake would like a few more bucks in his pocket. Of course this was one of a few things that he wouldn't mind having in conjunction with Norman's oral talents- but the more and more he thought about it, the more it felt like he was taking advantage of a dead man- someone who couldn't really fight back. He wasn't exactly the most conservative of police officers, his cynical tone to police work and arrogance towards the suspects and non-suspects alike would assume one would find him ready to pounce on such an opportunity. Yet he was also a prideful man, and the idea of pretty much stealing all this man's life savings - Norman fucking Jayden or not- wasn't really sitting right with him.

There was a slight flutter of activity as some of the workers behind them began some conversations. Carter was grateful for some noise in the place, as the only sound up to that point had been him munching on his sugar-encrusted snack. He finished it in record time, about ready to start on the second when he glanced over towards Jayden, who of course, had been spying that muffin with some lust for the slightest of a second. Blake's hand twisted the wax paper the muffin had previously sat on, crumbling it up as he realized this wasn't really right, either…

'_Fuck…'_

He inwardly cursed himself when he realized what he had to do. Not really so much as a necessity, as Jayden had ate breakfast earlier- but in terms of some sort of gesture in order to clear the air. He had hidden that pamplet from him, never attempting to show him. Now he regretted it, and now he had a goddamn crybaby in his possession.

Jayden felt oddly anesthetized as he leveled his eyes, staring out the winodw as he watched the cars speed into the soft light in on the horizon. Here and there he'd hear Blake take a bite, listening to the lieutenant chow down on that tasty-looking muffin. Jayden didn't want to tell the man that he sounded like a horse when he ate, lining up to the trough to swallow anything inside at a quick and consuming rate- but it was true nonetheless. It didn't bother him all that much, and instead drank his coffee as he tried to put himself out of the situation as much as possible.

"Here…" Blake sighed, pushing the muffin in the paler man's direction.

Norman looked up from his mini self-crucifixion, staring into the coffee as though it would deliver some sort of message. When Blake had ordered two muffins, he instantly had assumed one would be for him- only to realize later that he had indeed planned to greedily inhale both. So he had given up on getting the tasty treat, only to have the joy rekindled, in sorts. No, he wasn't one to inhale cookies by the mouthful, he tended to enjoy salty treats over the sugary sort. Oddly enough, he began to find himself more attracted to the idea of devouring chocolate, especially, by the pound.

"Catah, you don't hafta…"

"Shut up and eat, asshole. We have a long day…"

Now here came the man's crass attitude, roaring back. He supposed he shouldn't question the man's gratitude, after all it wasn't as though he had much to begin with. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, they say. The profiler wasn't particularly hungry, but knew full well it wouldn't take long for his cravings to come surging back. Come to think of it, almost on cue, a sort of pining desire for something crispy, soft, yet sugary sweet began to scream for him to delivier.

Licking his top lip, he questioned no more as he slid the paper towards him. Lifting it up, he took one big bite and felt it crumble in his mouth. Blake watched with an odd sort of facination as the agent ate, feeling some sort of pride at keeping the little bastard fed. It wasn't just a fatherly action, but something perhaps more akin to either social or self-preservation. He couldn't help but think of Jayden as a sort of extension of himself, his body- his own property, and therefore his best interest to keep happy.

'_The fuck is wrong with me? I don't owe him shit…If anything, he's cost __**me **__so fucking much…'_

Jayden practically swallowed the muffin, taking it down with a few last bites. It was odd just in the fact that he wasn't hungry but mere moments ago, but found his body hungering for some sort of sustenance that it apparently told him he very much required. He couldn't help but feel Blake's cold, judgemental gaze on him, fixed with that examining, prying stare as he seemed to be studying the deceased agent like the facination that he was. His cheeks flashed pink with the slight embarrassment as he fed his face, pausing only to swallow and take a few sips of his coffee to wash it down.

He finished, crumpling up the wrapper in the wax paper, looking down towards the table as if to avoid the acusasatory stare. "Thanks…"

"I need to fatten you up, pal." Carter threw back, spinning his own act of good will around to make him look rather foolish. "I bet your corpse is bigger than you right about now…"

Indeed, the youthful agent was rather thin, practically skin and bones the last time the lieutenant glanced at him. He swore his clothes hung baggily on the younger man, but in a way that was far from just their mutal size differences. He supposed being dead didn't exactly put one in a good way- but as far as the hauty detective was concerned, Jayden was like a new project for him. A way to fight off his up-and-coming midlife crisis. That car in the backyard didn't quite compare to a living, breathing human being.

"Yeah, y'ah probably right…" Norman admitted. Sticking his index finger in his mouth as he sucked out the last sugary goodness from under his fingernail.

Blake's vision once again decided to sway in Jayden's direction, analyzing that single action. A sudden warmth engulfed his abdmimen at the memory of Jayden blowing him for the first time, a jolt of pure erotisisim sent his crotch alight as it pulsed. Christ- he was good at it. Just being a man was enough to make him somewhat knowledgable in the field of what another member of the same sex would crave, and _feel_. Yet there seemed to be a certain flair that simply felt…engaging, motivated- as if he was vying for some sort of approval.

"'Think I lost some weight since I've been dead…" Jayden chuckled, and couldn't help but glance over Blake's shoulder as he saw one of the female workers catch that sentence, turning her head slightly, obviously curious as to what the hell he could have meant by that.

"You and me, both…" The lieutenant added, totally unware as to the goings-on behind him.

"Sawry?" There was a slightly nervous chortle to the agent's response.

Carter paused, pressing his lips together as he hunched slightly over the small table. He took a luscious sip of his creamy yet hot beverage, pulling away as he licked the whipped cream from his top lip. Only slightly staining the upper portion of his goatee.

"My clothes are gett'n loose…" He cleared his throat afterwards, not particularly wanting to devulge such personal information.

"Rilly?" Jayden's accent trilled, Blake wasn't sure yet if he found it amusing or irritating.

"Yeah…"

Jayden watched as the older lieutenant took a another quiet sip of his coffee, sitting back in his chair as his eyes darted up, meeting for an awkward second or two when their gazes locked.

"Probably noth'n…" Norman nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders as he put his hands under the table, clasping them with some concern, not quite wanting them to venture between his own legs as they instead sat on top of his lap. He had to admit it was cold in the coffee shop, but he supposed he should have been happy enough to feel such sensations after being dead.

"I can't wait until this shit's ov'ah with…" He stated, sighing as he looked down at the brown table beneath him.

"Hate to break it to yah, Norm…"

The sound of the cup being placed back on the table seemed to resonate louder then it should have- and to think, this time he didn't even slam it. He turned his head to the side and clicked in his mouth like back in the wasteland all those days ago.

"…But this shit is just _beginning_." Carter said it with an ironic tone, looking up in a way that exemplified that style of speaking as his deep blue irises rose to the top of his whites, looking at him from under his heavy brow. Jayden had wished that didn't sound so damn right and well…scary, but he also knew the truth when he heard it. Always did. He watched as Carter began to stand up, scooting his chair back into place with a slightly ear-wrenching squeel filling the coffee shop.

The agent wanted to ask what precisely he meant by that. After all, he wasn't planning on asking the man to do much more then speak to his family and get his affairs in order. That shouldn't be too difficult, at least from his end, his family would do most of the work, no doubt. Yet he had a chilling realization when he suddenly understood- if this 'living' thing continued, and he hoped that it did- Norman was going to be living with _Carter_ until further notice. He would need to be taken care of, like a fucking child.

'_Christ, I wonder why he isn't more upset…'_

He never really thought of it like this before, and because of that, he felt his good mood almost completely falter. Swallowing hard, he began to stand up, not wanting to make Blake any more late then necessary. Scooting out his chair and making a similar noise, he stood up a bit too fast- and it was then when his world shattered once again.

There was no time to think or even react- just a quick intake of breath as he felt himself teeter backwards. Warm air flowed about, caressing his exposed limbs as he felt the sun once again touch his face, plants brushing the bottom of his pant leg- what he had assumed to be grass-

'Fa'wk_! No…No! Not now!'_

Never before had he been so terrified of not making it back to reality. He was making progress, or at least he had thought so. Indeed, it was merely borrowed advancement and time, and now it had come back with a screaming vengence to lay waste to his newly-aquired post-mortem physicality.

Like a rush, he felt the effects hit him. It ran up his flank and spine, the sickening sensation making his stomach and organs slosh about as a stabbing pain resoated there. Feeling as though someone had kicked him square in the gut, and never took away the foot. Yet it didn't compare to the throbbing behind his eyes, pulsing with his quickening heart beat. The panic was only making it worse, the thudding ever increasing.

There was the overpowering sense that he was far from being in control- emasculated, thrown into submission by this constant disease of his. Post-mortem addiction- no doubt the first case of it's kind. He inhaled the fake air through exasperated lungs, unaffectedly hyperventilating as he found himself unable to keep up with his own breathing.

He expected to see a warm canyon on a sunny day- a lukewarm forest full of autumn color, the middle of the ocean, or perhaps even the surface of mars.

What he got was the last thing he'd ever expected.

A sensation rocked him that he could do nothing but simply experience- he couldn't understand it in that first few seconds, just feel the absolute power that felt to have liquefied his bones and practically destroyed every sense he owned. His eyesight went dizzy, ears ringing profusely as he stumbled backwards and clashed both hands over his ears, feeling nothing but pain and confusion through every possible particle in his body.

'_What the fuck-'_

He saw and felt the heat; like standing mere inches away from an open fire. The color was a vibrant orange that filled his vision, sending ripples of absolute fear through his body as he fought to breath in, fearing inhaling the flame itself and burn himself from the inside out-

"_**-him out of there!"**_

A man's voice drifted in from behind, one that disturbingly familiar, though not being currently sane enough to process it. He was yanked back suddenly, down into a forest of green, humid grass and ferns that he felt more then saw, and it wasn't until someone was pressing him down into the haughty growth that he could smell the air- smell the fire…What was that? It was…Fuck, was that napalm?

'_Oh…Shit.'_

At first he struggled to remember where and how he knew that smell from; then distinctly remembered a demonstration at Quantico, Virginia. It was years ago- but that smell stayed with him, most notably because of the stigma he couldn't help but attach to it. The historical facts that were hammered into his head in college pervaded him, it's jelly-like consistency until it was ignited by air- used most notably during the Vietnam conflict-

Now it hit him, and it was less so much a 'punch to the gut' as much as it was a sudden realization that writhed and crawled it's way to the top of his conscious. The tropical warmth, the vegetation, the sound of what he was now beginning to process as gunfire, and of course, the blinding heat and smell of napalm. It all came together to form an impossible virtual reality.

Holy shit- he was in Vietnam.

The evidence continued when he attempted to raise his head, only managing to turn his face to lift one eye up to the sky. The utter amount of green was staggering, the jungle thick even after what had to be a napalm drop on a nearby cluster of vegetation. Helicopters permeated the sky like birds in a more peaceful setting- and as his hearing began to return, the churning of their blades nearly deafening in their own right. They zipped from right to left, their noses slightly dipped as they carried soldiers from what had to be point one to point two.

His suit- or rather, Blake's suit, was yanked back with frenzied force as he struggled to help the process. He didn't have much time to even try and fathom who was behind him, trying their best to force him up to his feet, he just knew that whoever it was, they would have to be pretty pissed.

Someone yelled, and he couldn't hear them at first- much less see them. It wasn't until he lifted his head that he saw a blurry man- taller, with a silhouette that already seemed far more powerful, worrisome, and loud- blinking each eyelid with such force as to jar him not only out of this panicky moment, but out of this heinous reality.

"…I said, _soldier- __**What the FUCK **__are you doin'?"_

A moment of recollection, a second for him to try and make out the man in front of him, and he tried to speak, albeit poorly. He failed on all accounts.

"Uh…I…I'm not a-"

"Where is your uniform! _What the- what the fuck is wrong with you? _A suit? You're in a _napalm drop zone_, you stupid fuck!"

Spit flew and hit his face, his eyes closing in response as his facial muscles scrunched up, telling himself to not even try to lick his lips anytime soon. His breath smelled fetid and horrible, and for the briefest of a second marveled at how ARI had the ability to reach even the smallest detail.

He was pissed, that much was obvious. Though he could understand why- a suited man showing up in your blast zone wasn't exactly what anyone would expect. Though the other part of him was highly irritated that he was being blamed for something he had no fault in. It wasn't exactly his intention to end up in war-time Vietnam. Though he supposed he should be glad he ended up with the Americans and not the Vietcong- still, he knew better then to get too excited. This could, and most likely…_would_, turn out very, very bad.

There was an enveloping heat all around, the deep humidity already causing sweat to roll down his back and forehead. Though he supposed the heat from the napalm and stress along with it didn't help. He took a deep breath, only to feel exhausted and positively miserable as he exhaled. That man grabbed him on the shoulder roughly, then spun him around so that he had his back to whatever soldier he had just so happened to have appeared in front of. Even still, he couldn't see, or hear correctly, his vision blurring in and out, hearing becoming inundated with the all-too familiar ringing from perhaps either the blast, or the ARI itself.

"_March_, asshole!"

'_Christ, even people in the 60's think I'm an asshole. Ah'r maybe I'm the 70's? Fuck!…' _

The thought was almost self-deprecating, as the tone of that voice had become so familiar to him over the past week, that he didn't even feel himself become surprised when he sort of realized who exactly it had sounded like- only to hear the heart-stopping sound of what had to be gunfire- he only but saw the flash of muzzle fire in the dense greenery, only heard what reminded him somewhat of firecrackers, and he was down again. Thrown to the dirt by the man behind him that had, so far, saved his ass twice.

"-Get down! Everyone _get down_!"

Jayden inhaled what had to be the worst kind of breath. Laden with some sort of toxic fumes as he breathed heavily against the ground. Finally; he began to see clearly, but it was all for naught. His eye strained to look up, seeing white birds flee the top canopy of the jungle, doing their best to escape the absolute hell that had been set loose in their corner of the earth. A strong hand kept him pinned in the center of his back as another sort of weight crushed his lower body- realizing then it was warm and heavy…The man behind him had practically covered him with his own body. It was both amazing in it's sheer level of compassion and selflessness- yet embarrassing for himself, as well as incredibly awkward.

That was nothing compared to the absolute shit-storm that had erupted all around them, however. Jayden just then made the conclusion in the fog of war that they had indeed came into an ambush, and were being fired at by Vietcong machine guns. His heart; a now heavily over-worked and stressed bundle of muscles; hammered violently as nausea gripped his stomach, FBI or not, he wasn't prepared for combat- for the _hell_ that was war. Not especially one as primal, unforgiving and deadly as this. This was hell on Earth, and he'd only been here but for a few minutes.

He had guessed that soldiers were firing back. Guessed it because it seemed as though the man behind him was shouting orders. It soon became obvious that he was a high-ranking sergeant, or even lieutenant. That eased his fear only a smidgeon. It meant that he would be professional towards his predicament…Not that he would believe it, though. Or for that matter, who said he was good at his job? Christ, Blake was a police lieutenant- showed how much that mattered.

On cue, his fear caught up in his throat again, and he began to feel the waves of sickness rolling over him. All the while, he felt what had to be ants crawling on his left arm and making their way to his face, swatting at them the best he could while he lay face-down in the dirt. This was Vietnam. The fear that these could be some sort of venomous insects ready to kill him dead a second time became a very real possibility. He remembered seeing nature shows where a swarm of ants would eat an entire creature whole. Needless to say, the swatting increased with new enthusiasm.

'_Godda'hn! This can't be real…There's just no way. I'm gonna wake up- I have to. This is insane! It can't be…It just can't!"_

The statement was more then just a reaction to the absolute down-trodden frustration he had come to suffer, the cumulative effect of dying, coming back, having a strange prostitution-based relationship with Carter Blake- then appearing in Vietnam when he was supposed to be in a coffee shop was taking its toll. It was also a reaction to looking up, and seeing soldiers for the first time. Actual, real soldiers, or as real as ones the ARI could create, using the mind of someone other then his own.

Whites and blacks- about five or so, gathered around him in a loose circle, one in front standing with extreme caution, bent slightly as he put together what he quickly guessed to be a rocket launcher. On the sides were some sort of sloppy white lettering that he didn't even try to read, an attempt no doubt for the solider to take some individuality amongst the uniform atmosphere that was the armed forces. Decorating their weapons was the best they could accomplish in the middle of a godforsaken jungle.

Norman braced, quickly covering his ears as he rolled back up, the man behind him scooting back in able to let him sit to some degree. He was relieved, as the ants had begun to bite him at his ear lobe until that point. Reacting quickly, he swatted everywhere, raking through his hair and making seething, closed-mouthed noises through his teeth. Taking in a calming breath, he watched as the solider in front fired the weapon, smoke flying backwards not far from his face as he tried not to completely inhale the almost oddly pleasant smell of explosives. A gust of pure force sent a depression into the ground, now glad he gave himself some room in retrospect. The blast sending the rocket towards it's target- the band of communist rebels in the brush. The trip was short, and the rocket had little trouble disappearing into the threes with it's white cloud of smoke trailing behind, sending an explosion outward amongst the trees as it set the canopy partially on fire.

The gunfire continued for the most part, Norman found himself cowering as best he could while not completely exposing himself to either man nor insect below. It wasn't just the bugs that kept him off the ground, it was the aversion of looking like a complete coward in front of these brave men…none of them slunk so low into the ground as he was, even now. Of course, Jayden wouldn't be seen by a coward by many, yet he always had the deep nagging inside himself. He had always considered joining at least the army, if not the marines. Yet his family put a stop to that faster then he could bring the pamphlet home. _'I didn't raise you to go get yourself killed in some godforsaken desert…' _His mom had said, the irony just now dawning on him to a great degree. Sure, it may not have been the middle-east, but being grinded to death wasn't exactly better.

Shouting now lifted over a break in the fog of war, dark smoke being inhaled through his lungs that no doubt could stain them and shorten his now unnatural lifespan. Some smelled almost good, in a victorious sense. Like gunpowder of recently fired weapons taking out the other side. Though he felt disturbed at being actually excited about that; Norman didn't wish ill on many people. Though he wondered if there _was_ an actual "good guy" in this fight.

The other smoke was horrid; the last thing he wanted was to breath it in. It was blacker then the pitchest night, and smelled of violent, flesh-searing chemicals. The kind of shit that causes third-degree burns and cancer in their children's children. No doubt some burn-off from the napalm drop a few minutes ago. He coughed loudly, easily drowning out the chatter and yells amongst the men around him, causing his eyes to water as he put his face into his arm, shielding his eyes and filtering his breathing.

"…The fuck is that, anyway?" One of them spoke up, taking notice of his form there, easily noticeable amongst the men in uniform. Apparently, the fighting was over. It was the only explanation Norman could come up with for the sudden conversation.

"Some faggot…" Another said, laughing and cracking a nearly pearl-white smile that stood out on his dark face, lighting up a cigarette and putting it to his lips.

He stood up to full attention, doing his best on his shaky and stressed legs. Taking the scene in for the first time, he eyed the group of men with a combination of fear and respect, heart thudding against his spine as he tried to come up with some amazing words, something to make them give him some sort of audience rather then call him a homophonic slur again-

"Fuck- look at 'em…Pressed suit' n shit…Fancy hair…Damn, you are a faggot, aren't ya?"

The one to the right took a few steps closer, a white man with a shit-eating grin that seemed far too amused after such a fire-fight for Norman's own comfort. He found it hard to speak, looking at these presumed American heroes and instead feeling near-rage at being crucified by their cruel words. He honestly couldn't tell if they were fucking with him- or going to take him out for concern of some sort of foul play.

"Takes a faggot to know a faggot, Jim-" One said in the back. The one known as Jim spun around and smiled, obviously having a good relationship with the other soldier, and issued out a "Hey, fuck you, man!" in the most near-playful way possible.

"You all seem to know a lot about queers-" Came the almost frighteningly familiar voice behind him.

"- You wanna all circle-jerk, or you wanna find out who this fuckin' asshole is?"

Jayden had to turn around- no, it couldn't be- and his response was a mix of fear and near-joy. Finally, a familiar face in this hell-hole! Except…it wasn't.

By all accounts, Carter Blake stood before him. Dressed in what had to be the thickest, most adorned Vietnam-era camo armor possible, straps and pouches slung about, the green from his uniform strong and dark, covered with a combination of mud and what had to be long-dried blood. That trademark goatee was thicker than normal, dark and rich like a black cup of coffee or a black bear's dense coat; and it stretched all the way up and connected to his hairline. Not a gray hair amongst them, nor a single wrinkle on his face. In fact, he appeared to be in his very early twenties, and nearly swooned from the rough, yet stallion- like body and demeanor that this Carter had. He swore he was like something that just walked out of a gay bear porno shoot. He bet that under that uniform he had a strong, muscular chest covered with thick hair. All he did know was that the bit of exposed arm he saw was thick and wonderfully toned. It was enough to make him drool, especially with those deep blue eyes set upon him.

Except, something was off…He was taller than Blake, something he was now surprised he missed considering he was now almost being towered over- and his chin was a bit more receded. He also realized that he had yet to see Carter himself in any of these inner-brain sequences he'd experienced.

Taken aback, Norman couldn't help but fumble at his words, putting one hand behind his head and sheepishly looking down, he only caught the sight of this pseudo-Blake with sweat pouring from his skin, grimacing, as he angrily swatted a death-carrying mosquito- then look towards Norman with the stink-eye of death as he expected some sort of explanation.

"Ah…Nahmen Jayden…F.B.I?"

It came out as more of a question, the character assassination taking it's toll.

Pseudo-Vietnam Blake pulled something nonchalantly from his pocket, then shook out what appeared to be a cigarette. Sticking it between his lips, he leaned down as he took out a silver Zippo lighter and put his head down to light it. Giving the agent a rather ironic glance, he took a puff of his cigarette, looking wholly un-amused the whole way. He could hear the soldiers behind him cackling as they burst out laughing. This Blake was not amused in the least, however.

"You shitt'n me, kid?"

Norman stumbled again as he searched for an explanation, attempting to talk but not exactly finding something he could use to put this into some sort of scope. Looking down at his feet with a spreading blush of shame consuming his face, one hand disappeared behind the back of his head as he nervously ran a hand through his sweaty mass of slowly curling hair.

"I…Well, I…They sent me 'tah…'tah analyze-"

"Analyze _cock?"_

Someone behind him thought they were absolutely _hilarious, _and the laughter continued. It prompted only a small smile from this Blake, watching as he took another puff as he analyzed Jayden himself, giving him a look top to bottom.

"I uh…I uh didn't think you could hav' a beard if you were in the military?"

Jayden knew those words weren't exactly kind, but he struggled for something to make him look more professional in these men's eyes. Something besides some suit who appeared out of nowhere, in the middle of a war zone.

Blake - or who he had seen to be Blake- made a smirk at the agent as he eyed him only a little suspiciously, as if expecting that very question, but not wholly concerned.

"I'm the only lieutenant in this part of the goddamn jungle, son. We've been holed' up here for three weeks- nobody here to fuck'n care."

His tone was vastly unamused, betraying his nearly worriless expression. Swallowing hard, Norman shook it off, looking down at his shoes as his stomach twisted into knots, the jungle's humidity making a stain of sweat roll down his back, and wondered if the dirt, sweat and tears would carry over to the real world. If, indeed, he was ever going back. The squishiness of the wet, moldy jungle floor caught in his ears as he heard this Blake walk towards him, the feeling of his approach similar to the sound of an executioner making it's way towards the potential prisoner.

"You're here for the drugs, aren't you?"

The tone was said in a relatively low whisper, though it seemed really more of a formality considering there was no way he couldn't be heard at that distance. Norman, of course, jumped a little at the accusation. His heart raced at the thought of them knowing about his drug habit.

"I- no! No…"

"Because I can tell you right now, son- nobody here's gonna give up their dope. It's the only thing keeping us from either going local or doing ourselves in,"

He nodded towards Norman with a sort of amused glint in his eye, taking the suit as a near threat to their apparent 'way of life' in the bush. Looking the man up and down with a very visible "once over", he spoke a little louder this time.

"…Looks like you could use some, suit. Might loosen' yah up…"

Blake inched closer; and he got a mean shock to his system as a million ideas of pain and suffering filled his head. He jerked as he didn't bother to go around him, and instead found the other man's shoulder colliding with his. The Blake back in the real world was at least shorter, him allowing to at least use that small advantage to fuel his ability to at least come up even. The idea of there being a Blake that was younger, taller, and even more buff then the one he was aware of…with the same ability for rage- well, now there was a terrifying thought.

Pushing Norman out of his way; he made no effort to apologize as he took a few more steps, then looked back to give the agent a look of subdued irritation. He watched this Blake give his wet lips a lick, then turned around to take full charge of this particular unit. Jayden couldn't help but feel a combination of malice at the treatment, and being completely emasculated and virtually castrated in front of complete strangers. Here, nothing he could do besides kill a mountain of men would ever hold up in their eyes- being the least-liked man in the vicinity had become the story of his life.

"Com'on, mistah' F.B.I- agent or not, you're not fucking allowed here. Camp is back this way…"

For a moment, the agent just watched as the older male walked to the front of the men. A few of the soldiers, dark with sweat and grime, muscles popping from their shortened sleeves, grins wide with amusement at his predicament as Blake passed in front and in-between them all without concern. Norman glanced down at his shoes, placing his hands on his hips as he took a deep sigh.

"Christ…" He exasperated, bead of sweat rolling down his face.

He had over a thousand questions dwelling on his tongue, thinking of ways he could pose them so it didn't sound completely awkward. Usually this wasn't a problem for Norman, he seemed to use his professionalism as a crutch to get around embarrassing situations. In the one that he found himself in, however, all these were thrown out the window. Left in the Vietnam bush behind him as he rushed ahead, gaining some sort of confidence as he ignored the comments from the other men. They weren't exactly quiet in their accusations, still laughing amongst one another.

It was Blake he wanted to be behind. That irony wasn't lost on him, that right now he'd rather be anywhere but right next to the man he'd had to accompany for several days. He was, however, the only familiar face in this crowd. Even if this particular Blake wasn't exactly a copy, it was as close as he was going to get. Why, he wondered? Was this a souped up, more glamorous view that Carter had of himself? What he perhaps always wanted to be? Something didn't quite feel right about that theory, however, as Blake seemed to Jayden as a man that may have well felt quite right in his actions, his aggression painted more of a less-then-preferable view of himself.

Still, it was the best explanation he could think of- and so he ran the few extra feet, stumbling a little as he felt his left leg give out, but not enough to fall. It didn't surprise him, his fictional body still hadn't finished 'healing' from the wringer he was sent through when he died. He looked back, watching the other men trailing behind, their mouths now silenced as they instead viewed him with now less restrained curiosity, replaced now with revulsion. Here they were, fighting with sweat, dirt, and blood covering every pore, and there he was in a suit, once again viewed as the fed there to ruin every one else's plan. It was like day one of the Origami case all over again.

They began to walk a trail, and it was only a few short minutes before they crossed out into more of a far more open area then Norman would have assumed to have existed in the middle of what he perceived to be endless jungle. A road lay before them, with two dirt tracks on either side that indicated recent wheel activity, but not paved or actually even heavily used in the slightest. A few dips in the ground were filled with water, with what the agent had assumed to be alive with mosquitoes ready to give him Malaria.

Just about on goddamn cue, he felt the nasty prick of one of those little bastards- and rose up a hand in a fit of vengeance to swat it dead. The sensation was oddly fulfilling, actually killing something that tried to harm him without one ounce of negativity in retrospect. He pulled the hand away to reveal a monstrous winged creature, flicking it off. The bite wound was already beginning to throb, the sensation much like a pounding heart under his skin.

His little fit didn't go unnoticed, and Blake turned a little in his direction, looking over his shoulder. He almost stopped walking, but instead just kept on a slightly slower pace. Though he did witness the older man digging into his pocket with some reluctance.

To the young man's surprise, a small vial came hurtling towards him. Not the glass variety that he was very accustomed to, but rather a small white bottle with a top. It was obvious right away it was some sort of medication, with pills inside. For a moment he was confused; what exactly did he need pills for? Fuck, why was everyone from the FBI to Carter fucking Blake trying to dope him up?

"Take one- not sure if it can help you much, now, but…it's better then noth'n."

Looking down, he spied that it was marked "For prevention of Malaria." in smeared-off words. This made his skin crawl just a bit- just when he didn't think he had enough to worry about. There was no doubt that this reality was real enough to cause real-world consequences, and that he may in fact come back to the other side with a blood-borne illness. The thought was far too uncomfortable for his liking, so he simply popped the top, took the large white pill, and dry-swallowed it to the best of his abilities,

"Thanks, sir." Norman replied, doing his best to be polite, then swallowed again as he felt it sticking to the back of his esophagus. He saw there was little to no reaction from Blake, so he cleared his throat and decided to address him in a more formal manner. Much like how the higher-ups back at the station didn't seem to want to respond unless their title was parked in front of their surnames.

"I uh…Lieutenant Blake, sir? Thanks 'fah the help."

This time he turned his torso, looking towards Norman with nonchalance, but at least giving him a little nod. Norman went to toss it back, but was stopped promptly with a shake of the head.

"Keep it, doesn't do me any good…Got it, already…"

Jayden nearly stopped, perking up his head as his gaze lingered on the back of the man's head. What did he mean by that?

"I'm sahry?"

"I got Malaria already-forgot to take the fuck'n things. They say I'll be sent back home, soon…"

The man trailed off, and Norman could have sworn that he heard a little bit of regret in his tone of voice. Needless to say, it was a touch confusing. Though the psychologist in him knew full well it was his duties of a lieutenant, taking lives and being responsible for so many of them-why would he want to go back to being an average, every-day citizen? Someone like Blake, he felt, craved that ability to command and conquer. He wondered if the man's previous ancestors were similar in their desires to dominate all they surveyed.

Now the agent watched the man with a bit more furor- looking for signs of illness or weakness in any way. Surprisingly, he still appeared just as steadfast and unmovable as before, and wondered how it was possible for such a beast to be infected with the horrible blood-borne pathogen. Not just showing the signs yet, he wondered?

'_This is a simulation- of course shit doesn't have to make sense…especially if it's comm'n from Blake!'_

It was becoming more and more unbelievable to him that this was all springing from one man's mind. Since when was Blake in Vietnam? Christ, he wasn't immortal; and was far too young to fight in the thing himself. Even being in the country after the fact wouldn't have been enough to show the sheer detail this place presented. It was going to be impossible to figure out while he was in this world- with no books, no internet, no ARI, or outside sources to try and formulate some sort of theory as to how this could be. He only hoped he would make it back- preferably soon.

"What are you really doi'n here, son?"

His tone was almost a bit southern, and it nearly threw him off guard. Sometimes he wondered if this was really Blake, or a look-alike. His voice would dip from that typical, generic Philly accent to one of someone who perhaps resided in the rural areas of Virginia, if he had something to compare it to.

"I ah'estly don't know, sir." Jayden admitted, shaking his head as he brought a leg up to step over a large incline in the path.

"I'm just as confused as you are."

He had tried to sound convincing, but knew his 'story' could only go so far. People didn't mysteriously appear out of nowhere into a Vietnam jungle. Though he also found it hard, if damn right impossible, to just come up with something convincing that would otherwise explain his prediciment.

"Really? Well mistah F-B-I, you must've either been drugged or brainwashed, cuz' I'm lookin' at you right now…shit, you're defiantly here."

Blake brushed aside a long fern, now heading back into the jungle. Swatting a mosquito of his own, he wiped the sweat from his brow as he then turned around, face clogged with perspiration and eyes halfway closed from the sun beating down.

"I-ah know…Listen, thanks for 'yah help- but I just wanna get outta here. They uh…dropped me in, by helicopter- I threw my parachute in the bush-"

"Shit, _dropped _in? Why didn't I get any word? I've been in this area now for days. I mighta shot 'yah down in there wasn't a napalm hit to worry about…"

Norman chewed his lip as he pushed aside another huge plant fond, put his foot carefully onto a huge tree root as to not trip over it instead. That explanation was the only one he could come up with on the fly, and he was already terrified that it wasn't sounding convincing enough.

"I didn' say it was a good decision, sir…"

Trailing off, he tried to go as far as he could without actually lying any more. The more he lied, the more likely he'd trip up and forget himself. Blake remained silent, and they trampled through the woods with relatively little objection, save the occasional odd sound, bug bite, or plant branch to the face. What had to be about fifteen minutes went by without issue, though that didn't mean the young agent wasn't constantly fretting over the issue at hand.

Then there came a tense moment as Blake suddenly stopped before him, his whole body going rigid. From what Norman learned of human nature, his body indicated a fear response. Sort of like how a deer freezes when it perceives danger. Much like a deer, somehow the federal agent gathered that, they too, were being hunted.

Putting his hand vertically into the air in a "halt" fashion, everyone behind him seemed to follow the like course of action, mimicking their leader as he froze in place. He wasn't sure what to think, himself, and his heart raced to match said thoughts. Was this routine? Something told him it wasn't, be it the rigidly of his company, to the eerie, unusual silence that now hung in the space around them. He decided to finally try and speak, not yell, not even use his real voice- just whisper. Minutes had ticked by, and the sweat trailing down his lip and back weren't making the stressful situation any better.

"_What's_-"

His breath felt as though it forcibly left his body as he reacted in pure shock from the sudden, unpredictable shots that rang out. The young, inexperienced agent didn't even recognize the sounds at the first few seconds- just that they were loud, making his body tense up and heart feel as though it had just flown up and into his chest. On instinct, he turned and went to grab for his gun- only to realize he didn't have one. One of the men fell, and it was all he saw as he was once again knocked down from behind, and there was no doubt that the large, muscular mass that was laying on him- pounced on rather like a jaguar apprehending it's prey- was once again the Vietnamese Blake. He shuddered and breathed as the shots continued, breath quick and panting as he tried not to inhale the dirt particles he was currently staring down.

He closed his eyes so tight, he swore he could feel them bleed. The breathing of this unusual Carter behind him fluttered against his ear. Norman just may have acquired an erection if he could say that he found this situation even remotely erotic- except he heard men crying in agony as they were shot up, cries for one another's comrades as they were gunned down in cold blood. Tears leaked from his eyes against his will as he heard the Carter above him scream for some semblance of control, barking orders as they were ambushed from the bushes, distracted by his own self, yet being protected as if he was one of their own.

'_Maybe I really __**am **__dead…Maybe this is all one big test, one giant fuck'n purgatory on my way to hell…Or maybe I'm already there…'_

There were, after all, flames. Screams of dying men in their final throes coupled with the whine of firearms coming to a crescendo like a session of hot lovemaking as it climaxed- then ceasing as a sort of eerie silence filled the air, a smog of sorts settling over the rather large cleared-out pathway that used to be some relatively peaceful Vietnamese jungle. A veritable Hades on Earth, the stench of gun fire, fluids, and masculine hormones abound, that last one in particular coming from the man on his back.

"Shit…_Shit_!" Blake coughed out, swallowing in a difficult manner as his voice shook from the surprise and agitation.

"Goddamn chinks…Look what they fuck'n did…Killed Jenners…"

Though his tone was sad, defeated, absolutely downtrodden- he could feel that chest hit his back with every pant, the tension forming in his muscles like a cat ready to spring. It was all so overwhelming, the mud now forming on his face as it stung his open pores, the salty perspiration pouring down every inch of his body.

"I'm sah'ry!" The agent tried to yell, his chest tightening in sorrow.

"…noth'in you coulda did…" Came a rumbled, choked up reply from the Blake above him. Though he knew it wasn't true, seeing as it was his arrival that caused them to make their way into this particular ambush- though he tried to make himself feel better by reasoning that it would have happened regardless, though he obviously didn't know for sure. Would never know in this hellish, fantasy jungle.

He could feel the large, heavily muscular man on top shift about, and it wasn't until he heard Blake speak into a slightly hushed and hurried tone that he realized he had been speaking into a radio.

Standing up, he walked towards his downed and injured unit with obvious strain, voice cracking as he spoke.

"Re-enforcements are coming, mister F.B.I. I don't know who the fuck you are, _really_- but you're getting out of here- we've got a job to do, here, kid."

The words stung, for good reason. They quite reminded the agent of his botched attempt to accuse Blake of being the Origami Killer. It had been in haste, a combination of anxiety of not being able to find the suspect with Shaun's death looming on the horizon- and of course, Triptocaine withdrawal. The fact that he was spending far too much time in ARI couldn't have helped. After punching holes in his little theory, Norman couldn't help but realize how positively stupid his assumption had been. Rushed and unprofessional. Luckily enough, Blake had actually done a good job at making him look foolish, otherwise his haste may have just gone the whole way-

'_Oh wait, in that case, I may actually still be alive…Fired, but alive.'_

That Blake had recanted Jayden's claim with simple logic- then put him down once more by shooing him away, reminding him that some of them had "real work to do." It stung at the time, made his pride dip to insurmountable levels as he retreated from Blake's desk, eyes filled with mounting depression and shoulders slouched in shame…Now? Now the sensation returned, feeling like nothing more then a bump on the road for braver men and more worthwhile human beings.

"I 'am who I said I am, sir." He tried to take back some of his pride.

"I'm not here by choice-"

"-_Now_ you're just pissing me off." He turned, his vision no longer on his unit, and pulled Jayden up by his suit jacket with a force fueled by pure rage.

Norman felt himself lifted off the ground, a once- over given by this Blake as he seemed to analyze this young man that just fell into his lap from nowhere. His face was filled with a contained rage and combined curiosity as he bit into his own lip at thought. The other man's own visage was covered with the same mud, sweat, and nearby buzzing insects as he was, eyes the only clean surface as they flashed a dark blue and white towards the agent with a fire brewing underneath, not quite tolerant enough of the man's excuses.

"Well _I am_, asshole! Unlike you, I was in the goddamn service while you were back home, finding your dick- and if you're gonna fucking _be here_- you better stop bullshit'n me and tell me what you're up to! You a fuck'n chink spy? Tell them we were com'in?"

Vietnam Blake grabbed tighter around the man's suit collar, making a furious eye contact for only a second- before he threw him back to the ground, hard enough that he barely had time to try and catch his footing, the momentum enough to send him on one foot, then flat on his ass then collapsing to his back as he grunted from the motion. Swallowing, he looked up into his antagonist's face- a face that remained him more of a raging bear then that of it's earthly human counterpart.

"Blake, I-" Forgetting himself, he propped an arm up underneath him, only to get an angry pseudo-Blake grabbing him again and pulling him up. It was odd how little out of him it seemed to take- almost zero exertion as this Blake was young and powerful, hauling him around like a stick figure half his size.

"That's Lieutenant Blake, _asshole_." He spat in his face again, several droplets cascading onto his cheeks and lip as he winced. That breath and saliva was warm- no doubt, those teeth haven't been brushed for a while.

Norman was about to talk when he felt it necessary to stop- the sound of helicopter blades piercing the normal jungle sounds of birds and foliage being trampled. He looked up, still in the other man's grasp, to witness one pass right above them. It surprised him how quick they arrived, not to mention how low they seemed to be flying.

"Well, well, your ride's here already…"

As Blake looked back down, the agent's view of the helicopters were obscured by the man's face as he gave him a rather condescending glance- watching him snort with what seemed to be revulsion at the man on the jungle floor.

"You're lucky…You wouldn't survive here one goddamn day, _Jayden._"

That tone was familiar, too, and all those feelings of inadequacy came rushing back as the first day back at the station. A surge of anger rushed him to his feet, pushing his shoes down into some sort of thick mud laced with leaves- and straighten up with a vigor that came more from adrenaline than anything else.

"That's right loot-enant! Not a single godd'ahm day!…" He took a few steps closer to the taller man, taking in the man's angry gaze and analyzing it in anyway possible.

"…Is that whatch'a tell all 'yah new recruits be'fah you send them into the jungle? Before yah lead 'em off to die? Is that whatch'a told your men back there-"

He was able to say to him exactly what he wanted to this whole time, though not so much the words as the feeling behind them. Those really couldn't be articulated into any series of phrases as hard as he tried. This wasn't a real human being, after all, just a facsimile of Carter's subconscious, or at least what he understood this to be. Except he didn't get to really finish it.

"You _little fuck'n asshole!"_

Taking off in a run, he wasn't sure what this Blake was capable of. It was less from fear and more from avoidance. He didn't need to get fake-beat up by a fake soldier, it wouldn't have exactly helped anything. Instead he took off towards where he the chopper seemed to be landing, the man's thunderous footsteps coming right up behind him.

A slight terror erupted in him when he realized it wasn't as close as he thought- so he sped up and looked over his shoulder, the very action causing him to stumble as he then saw nothing…No Blake, anyway. Though the jungle remained, as did the sound of helicopter blades and faraway explosions. He stood for a moment, then looked about with some quickness to make sure he hadn't popped up somewhere entirely like a bad horror movie.

'_Either Blake is more fucked up then I thought…Or I am. Not sure which is bett'eh…'_

His heart fled into his throat as he turned- the intense feeling of wind suddenly bearing down on him. He winced and hunkered down nearly to the forest floor as the helicopter hovered closer, his eyes nearly closing as he felt the irritation create tears, watering them up considerably as the droplets were forced away into the wind by the machine's blades. The sound was enough to make him want to totally avoid this ride- but he had no idea how long this particular 'incident' would last- suppose it didn't end? What if he was trapped here? Either way, he was considerably better waiting somewhere else far less hostile.

Another break in the jungle- an it was obvious he came upon the area he was supposed to be. A small clearing on the edge of a large precipice, more of the Vietnamese jungle laying below. He tried to look up, catching the best photographic glimpse of the army helicopter as possible. It was green, it's entire body painted in dull paint and a few white letter markings, with a dark, looming presence as it blocked out the sun and cast a shadow upon him. He could tell there was a few soldiers inside, but for obvious reasons tried not to stand too far out for safety's sake.

A ladder was thrown out, quite the lanky thing as it was nothing more but two ropes with rungs between them. It took him a whole few seconds to analyze that situation and determine he had no choice, looking up to gain some courage from the man looking down at him; but his helmet and goggles betrayed no emotion, wither it be sympathy or amusement at his situation.

Norman knew that he perhaps should have predicted what was going to happen next- an explosion, red and unbearably hot as he jerked back, foot still wrapped in the last and furthest rung as he hit the ground once more. His blood pressure and anxiety hit record heights as he coughed out a shocked breath- feeling his body jerk forward as the now falling helicopter was taking it with him-

A man's hand grabbed at the ladder, coming in from behind as it snatched it with one, and used a rather ridiculously large army knife to slice and dice the rope away. It cut relatively clean after a few sawing attempts, and Norman fought to pull himself half-way up so that he could assist with the other. Even before seeing his face he knew who it was, but now wasn't the time for pangs of affection and questions of integrity.

The second rope, despite being twisted and turned around the first, was cut- and he felt his body stop sliding forward as his foot was not inches from the cliff- but within the other man's grasp. He looked up, witnessing the fiery wreck as the helicopter hit the ground below, a gush of flame underneath ascending into the air. Though despite it's awesome display, he couldn't quite get over the other display- the 'taller' Blake holding his foot in shock as he peered at the incident happening from his angle, which Norman was certain was far moor interesting.

"What…What happen-"

"Gooks again." Norman would have winced at the racial slur had this been any other sitatiaion.

"Took it down with a launcher- like a sitting _fuckin _duck...We gotta go...The camp...the camps gone- razed..."

Unable to make a coherent sentence as he panted- the words between each breath were beyond strained. The man's shoulders slouched in near-defeat, making it obvious to the younger man that he had been defeated against all of his will.

"They're everywhere...This goddamn jungle is theirs, now..."

Normally, in such a situation, the agent would have felt guilty at having been the cause of a whole helicopter crews untimely death- but he had to keep reminding himself this wasn't real. Though another part of him told him that supposedly- _he_ wasn't, either. What made them so different? Was the other, supposedly 'real' world an illusion as well?

His world had become one big, horrible trip. One event spiraling one after another, an ironic hell to drop into after living a sinful life of indulgence. Neglecting his body, his happiness, his family, love life- even his career, all for a taste of that seemingly endless bliss. A bliss that had poison lips, and a deadly kiss; but it was a kiss that was long, and tortuous- even now.

Norman was silent as he looked up, now finding a small convoy of helicopters flying in front of them. They continued to block out the sun as they flew right to left, completely heedless of them. It was mesmerizing to say the least, the entire scene feeling accurate, though the FBI agent wouldn't be able to know for sure just how real it was. The air felt humid and heavy, the jungle oppressing- but most of all, the overwhelming feeling of death, hopelessness, and that nearly familiar feeling of paranoia hung over his whole being, and in this fog of despair he couldn't help but understand just how hellish a person would have to be to not only survive this- but _thrive_.

With that thought, he managed, somehow, to stand up. He turned around only to no longer find Blake standing there. It didn't surprise him, as he'd stopped hearing the man minutes ago. Though now he reasoned it had more to do with the situation then him actually leaving- his sudden, heroic appearances with disappearing just as fast must had something to do with Carter Blake's psychosis. Though he'd begun to get to the point where he felt analyzing things was almost pointless. There was a very good possibility this was beyond the human mind's comprehension- the brain didn't even understand it's entire capabilities.

One breath- humid, hot, sweaty- the next…cold, his breath appearing before his eyes. Then his head began to pound as his gut rumbled, and he felt lightheaded, like he was about to faint. This sudden change caused panic to erupt, and he doubled over, nearly taking a seat if he wasn't so afraid of not being able to get back up. His vision blurred to the point where he once more felt nearly and wholly blind, everything melting into shapes and simple, dark colors and shadows.

'_Cartuh! I…I gotta get back to him…He can't leave without me, he wouldn't, would he?'_

The futility of the situation was wholly frightening, and he began to walk quickly about in loose circles, doing his best to keep his legs active. Already he could feel she shaking start, the withdrawals hitting him quicker than normal. He gasped as he felt his nausea swell, closing his mouth and doing his best to focus on keeping his small meal down.

'_What if he does leave me here? What if I never make it back-! What if this is the last time?'_

A quick gasp, a flutter in his bowels- and he began to tremble everywhere. His eyes diliated as his arms shook violently, and out of instinct he wrestled to contain the shakes with one hand clasping the other, his teeth nearly chattering from the force.

"Cartah!"

He yelled, his voice giving out and doing no good in the stagnant, nearly non-existent location, stressing the pronouciation as well as he could. Still, he was hoping that his tone was respectful as possible- if he could hear it, he hoped it could coux him. _'Shit, try…' _

"Loot-enant Blake!" He tried again, his throat strained and only able to spit out the man's name with some harshness, a gurgle in the back of his throat.

Panic overtook the young deceased agent- and he began to walk quickly about the small space he was given. Pale, now nearly grey eyes darting back in forth as his head nervously turned this way and that- goddamn- what was he going to do? This was no dream-quest from Carter's seemingly disturbed mind, nor was it a memory from the past…it was simply the ARI-verse coming back to haunt, and perhaps confine him. He wans't content to just sit and wait- not anymore.

Funny, how often had he used ARI to escape the confines of the real world, and here he was…Busting to get back in. The incredible irony wasn't wasted on Norman, cruel and very apparent as he now struggled to communicate to a man he also shouldn't want anything to do with. Crawling back from the other side like the ghost he had become.

'_Casper the asshole ghost…Fuck you, Blake.'_

He tried to think, to reason, to grasp as to what to do and how. Yet as he stood, shaking and quivering, tremors filling his body violently- he felt the cold trickle of a nose bleed begin. Norman didn't even reach to take it away, just close his eyes and almost relish the masochistically irritating feel of it running below his nose, sneaking it's way over his lip-

Head spinning, he leaned his head back and watched the world around him follow suit, his whole body felt lighter as his heart accelerated. He could just feel the faint coming on, and despite his frantical efforts to stop it, could not cease to ever- accelerating blood pressure spike that would send him into temporary unconsiousness.

Instead, he found his feet moving, and in a very drugged and comatose state, he began to walk about. Pain seemed to almost flow through his viens, his nerves virtually on fire as each beat of his strained heart sending throbs of agony through his drug-starved system. Blinking his eyes shut from the rush, the stabbing, visceral torment, he stumbled a good few more feet without any heed to where he was going.

A small barrier- a few rocks in a line- and he stopped. The urge to faint had receded for now, so instead he squinted as he looked over the tiny, waist-high wall of rocks. He wasn't quite sure what this was supposed to resemble, so without thinking he placed his hands on the lip of the wall, and heaved his tired body over it. It wasn't easy, and it retrospect he wondered how he even had the strength, especially since the lack of stimulant to his body caused his muscles to feel like limp, painful noodles. A few more stumbles, and with some restraint- he backed away from the cliff that seemed to come up out of nowhere.

"Whoa…Whoa…"

With a shiver, he considered for a brief few seconds how easy it would have been to die in this non-reality, if it was possible. He couldn't determine if his withdrawals were about to receed or get worse, as they seemed to be lessening, yet still returning once more in stronger spurts. Jayden swallowed hard as he tried to blink away his blurry vision, listening and feeling the pulse inside his chest with each powerful beat, it had become far too loud as it throbbed in his ears, obscuring all other sounds.

It was then when Jayden realized that he wasn't in the realm of non-reality anymore...Not even close. He felt that same heart practically explode, sinking down into his chest- a tractor trailer honked horribly as it sped towards him.

He was on the fucking turnpike.

Norman didn't even have time to think, much less say "Holy Shit!" as he seemed to immediately snap out of his daze, eyes widening and body quickening as he jumped out of the way. There was no concern for the lane next to him, as there simply was no choice, and he landed with extreme tension right on the tremendously cold and harsh cement. The air was knocked keenly out of his lungs as he blinked, head thudding and vision darkening with the extreme panic from the shock of what had just transpired.

The truck blared it's horn as it sailed by, rattling the highway as the wind felt oppressive to his laid-down form. It was a massive thing, with a black cloth covering it's trailer as it seemed to be hauling construction equipment. There was no time to consider just what would have happened had he not moved, how many pieces he would have exploded into, how flat and bloody the mess would be, how many hours it would take and manpower involved in once again piecing together what remained of his body- instead he told himself he would be just as dead if he didn't move, _now._

Despite all the muscles in his body screaming in agony, he once again pushed himself off the concrete just in time- to the tune of a screaming horn coming his way. His face flinched visibly from the stress his muscles endured, his back screaming despite the abnormal amount of adrenaline pounding around his system.

A car approached at a good seventy miles an hour, seeing him far too late and waiting to hit the brakes before they caught sight of a suited young man on a busy, wet turnpike. Norman inhaled sharply as he once more half leaped, half stepped away from a speeding vehicle, hearing and seeing the blue coupe fly past him as his stomach lurched inside at the concept of what could have been. He twisted full around, his stomach feeling as if it literally flew up into his chest as the edges of his suit swatted against the wet car as it flew by.

'_Oh gawd! Too close; too fuck'n close!'_

Another car wasn't far behind, except that one laid on it's brakes harshly, and in turn it began to swerve as it did its best to miss him, the driver convinced that it would have hit him just seconds earlier. Jayden watched helplessly as it fishtailed back and forth, then seemed to head towards him with an unintended warpath.

Looking back, he found the opposite lane full as a redish SUV swerved to miss him, honking horribly as it careened into the side of the concrete barrier and skidded around in front of him. Jayden had no choice but to run, attempting to clear the lane and make his way towards the other side.

Observing with horror, Jayden saw the car that swerved to miss him ram the SUV as it flailed about sideways. Before he could have time to consider what his actions had caused, he heard the blare, the screeching, of yet two more cars flailing down the road, braking and careening to avoid the wreck. One flew between him and the crash, feeling the breeze fly past him as his heart caught in his stomach from a seemingly almost- death again and again. The other swerved and hit the wreck sidways, a new fear clutching him when he realized he could have just cost some innocent motorist their lives.

'_Don't just stand there! See if they're okay…'_

With a lull in the traffic, Norman sprinted towards the wreck as quickly as possible. There was but one man in the most recent car wreck, and was about to look inside when he found the gentleman exiting on his own free will. He was a slightly portly man with grey hair, and before Jayden's mouth could open, he felt himself become renewed with apprehension when he realized he himself was a dead man- and wasn't supposed to be engaging in any sort of conversations with anybody.

'_Shit! Gottah dissah'peer…Fast…'_

He looked around, his head pounding as his nose once more began to bleed. Somebody yelled at him, but he couldn't determine what they said, and weither it was a call for help or a yell of concern- or even just a curse. Taking a deep breath, he walked away, doing his best to ignore the scene- when a car blared loudly next to him- so loud he swore he nearly let his bladder loose on that one.

Turning- he felt a wave of relief wash over when he found the window rolling down, and a one Carter Blake sitting inside the grey police- issue sedan. Jesus Christ- the look on his face said it all. Absolutely ghost white; like a sheet of paper, the bags under his eyes even more noticeable then before. The man had been absolutely scared half to death. Was it for his safety? Or his own? After all, if Jayden was killed…Again. It may lead for some explaining to do for the lieutenant that was supposedly seen with him in the coffee shop. That is, if they found the body...The former agent didn't want to dwell on how he'd get rid of his body.

"Get 'in the fuck'n car…"

His tone was shaky, Jayden had quite expected Blake to be more angry- but instead he sounded almost…afraid? Though he wasn't really sure why- he supposed the fact that he took it easy on him once he was caught having a nervous breakdown in the car- fed him coffee and a muffin- he felt like a kid who's dad just bought him an ice cream to make him feel better.

There was no doubt, however, that Blake was pissed…that was, not entirely in a good mood- and that was understandable, if worrisome. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Norman sprinted in front of the lieutenant's car over to the passenger side. He felt like a bundle of nerves, his skin sweaty and pale, eyes wide and glassy, shaking from head to toe. Every step was bouncy, his anxiety causing him to act as one whole live wire.

Ripping open the door, he let out a massive sigh and sat down inside. He felt a massive quiver as the car jerked instantly forward, slowing down only momentarily to pass through the small gap left in the small car pile-up. Once he did, however, Carter accelerated wildly to fly down the road, hearing the motor pick up as he laid on the gas pedal and sent it flying down the highway.

A long and tense silence filled the car once more, though this time it was pregnant with questions on both sides, more from shock and awe then the mere curiosities that plagued their awkward discussions before.

"So… when did you get it done?"

Jayden paused, his breathing now just beginning to level off- wondering just what the hell Blake was talking about.

"What?" He asked, his polite tone long gone. At least, for the time being.

"That lucky horseshoe you had installed up your ass. Was it before or after you died…You know, the first time?"

He offered only silence in response, biting his lip as all color drained from his face, finding it funny, sure, but not exactly amusing considering what he'd just been through. His body still clung to it's earlier, Vietnamese jungle sweat. His bug bites still itched, though he doubted there were any physical manifestations really left behind. Rather, he was too afraid to look and check, so he decided not to. Unsure of how exactly to resond, he decided to ignore that comment and instead concentrate on the issue at hand.

"I d'un't know what happened-"

"You pulled your goddamn disappearing act again, _that's _what happened." Blake interrupted, his tone hightly stressed. The profiler was unsure if he was pissed at him or simply angry at the situation. After all, he reasoned, there was little he could have done, completely unaware of the real world beyond his fantasy.

"I went to look up- fucki'n saw you dazed and confused, standing there like a kid finding his dick for the first time. Then you _fuck'n _vanished, poof!" Blake threw an arm up to illistrate his frustration, the other one staying securely locked on the wheel.

"…Just like all those other times, 'cept this time…"

Carter paused, chewing at the inside of his mouth as he stared straight ahead, fuming in his own cocktail of confusion and loathing. Norman watched his face with anticipation, waiting for the answer. What was different.

"…You didn't come back…"

He said it with a sort of muted, extinguished tone. Any more, and Jayden could of sworn it would be admittance of defeat. Something that even this old, grimmy detective from the streets couldn't handle. He was concerned he actually couldn't be found? That he was gone for good?

Carter glanced quickly at the agent sitting next to him, though he had a hard time concentrating what with the situation weighing down on him and beginning to actually make him nervous. It was rare feat for the older veteran of law enforcement- but this time he was faced with something altogether different. Not only Norman and his absolutely impossible actions, but the fact that he just fled the scene of an accident…That the kid had just _caused_. If anybody got a good look at, and identified him- they were shit out of luck.

Said kid was fidgetting- his legs bouncing and hands twitching. They seemed to do it with some real vigor, almost as if they were being shaken from some grand source. It was "nervous" twitching…Rather, it quite resembled someone's actions from substance withdrawal. During the Origami Killer case- he remembered Jayden's odd behavior at times- mood swings, anxious, almost nervous paranoia. Wide eyes, pale, even clammy-looking skin…For a briefest of seconds, he entertained the idea that the uptight young man was in fact, a coke addict.

Being from the FBI, Carter assumed he had a rather high-class, almost celebrity lifestyle. Maybe he did do lines of cocaine in his upscale hotel room? Of course, he still couldn't see that pussy sniffing a line of finely-cut coke from a mirror on his night stand. Not at all, not even if he tried. The kid was too morally up-right, he could see him feeling guilty about just having a goddamn beer, or touching himself-Though his ability to give rather stupendous head made him reconsider. If Norman was capable of blowing him so well, then maybe there was more to this little shit then met the eye?

Regardless, Blake didn't particularly consider Norman's shaking to be from drugs. It wasn't like he saw him pop any besides the legal ones he had willingly gave him. An illegal action in itself, but not one he was concerned about in the slightest. Giving away his medication wasn't exactly normal for him, however. Indeed, he had been the first. It had more to do with opportunity then any real care, he reasoned. Nobody had ever been so fucked up around him to aquire his narcotic pain medications.

Instead, the cop figured it to simply be another trait of being dead, and brought back to life. His very presence in the car's cabin was something peculier in itself. It wasn't exactly healthy to die, he reasoned. So of course he could see some physical side effects remain. Now that he thought about it, he was now surprised Norman wasn't even more fucked up.

"I dunno…" Came the agent, but his tone was all wrong. His teeth chattered as he spoke, and Carter watched as he grabbed his own arm with another, trying to stop his hand from shaking too readily.

"I just found mahself in a jungle…There were….people, I started walk'n…"

Carter couldn't exactly focus on his driving, especially now with Norman's strange attempt to tell his tale of being in some damn jungle. It all sounded like some hallucinogenic fantasy, brought on by some sort of pill or mushroom. Again, he couldn't help but entertain that drugs had some sort of role in this.

"Let me guess…" He bobbed his head a little as he spoke his condescending tone; "Then you were in the middle of a highway…right?"

Twisting his lips, he analyzed the little brat's face, and knew from experience something was being hidden from him. He could always smell bullshit a mile away, even seeing it, perhaps, times when it wasn't even there. In the case of Ethan Mars, he knew the man was trying to only let a little of his knowledge out, and for obvious reasons, Blake knew something was amiss. He never would have guessed it was quite the conspirtial scope that the reality had come to be, however.

"Yeah that's…about right. Except…I felt like I've been gone for hours- How long has it been?"

"About…fifteen minutes?" Carter relayed, his tone dry.

"Seriously? Jesus Christ…"

Norman's tone fell as he looked out the window, his eyes glassy and face fallen. His complexion was absolutely wrecked; and if Carter didn't already know the young man was dead, he would inquire it right there.

"Fuck, Norman- you better start explaining some shit to me. I'm about ready to say _fuck _this whole goddamn thing and let those FBI agents handle this- you're gonna get me fuck'n _arrested_ or _killed-"_

"What do 'yah want me to do, Cartuh!"

His voice was desperate, an angry line to it. Like a dog who was poked at one too many times, only to lash out in a blind fury. Though mostely, it came off as a plea for help. Norman had been sent back into despair by the older man's surprisingly serious tone. He was right, and it put him into a nervous fit of realization when he came to understand the absolute gravity it all held. Someone could be seriously injured back there- even dead. It would all be on him. Still, it felt tremendously unfair to be blamed for something he had absolutely no control over.

"I 'ave no control ovah this!" He spat out to the unresponsive police officer.

"I'm here, then I'm not! I'm not making this happen…Fuck, if I could, I wouldn't fuck'n be work'n for the FBI, I'd be pull'n rabbits outta my ass for a livin!"

Blake wanted to laugh at that- the image of Jayden doing just that sprouted suddenly in his brain. Though emotions ran too high to be just extinguished like that.

"You're hiding _something _from me, _Jayden_…" Came a nasty, almost poisoness line.

"And before this trip is over…I'm gonna find out what."

Jayden was silent, and instead decided it would be easier to ignore that comment entirely, instead rolling over to look out the window. His motions resembled a child being told he couldn't have what he wanted, pouting nearly to the same extent of a little boy. Though his words weren't quite as immature.

"You say that to _all_ your suspects, Cartuh?"

Carter had several things on the tip of his tongue, could feel his rage cresting. Instead he rocked his massive jaw side to side, looking at Norman out of the corner of his eye.

"As far as I'm concerned, Norman? You're _are _a fuck'n suspect. Because I think you've been lying to me from day _one_."

'_Not a chance.' _He internally insulted. Trying his best to calm the now-nervous shake that was beginning in his body. The cold, clamy sweat that started from his drug withdrawals were now being replaced by anxious ones. Being found out, rooted out of the soil by the dirty old hog that was Lieutenant Carter Blake- and he was the truffle. He wondered if he'd be devoured much like one- not literally, of course. But rather in the sense that he'd be left for dead on the long stretch of Pennslyvania highway in the middle of nowhere. Forgotten, perhaps wondering a virtual wasteland forever.

"I've been…sick for a long time, Blake." _'It's not like I'm lying…' _"The ARI, I try to keep a handle on it but…It's tough sometimes."

Norman tried to make his voice sound defeated, depressed and all together pathetic. He thought he did a pretty decent job, but wasn't sure entirely if the cop believed him. The profiler had a hard time reading his masculine counterpart.

"Sick?" The cop repeated. "In the head? Or what?"

That very nearly-almost put a smile on Norman's face- instead he scoffed, a bit surprised that he came out with that one.

"N…No! Cartuh, goddamn it…I'm not…"

Norman almost said "crazy", but stopped himself. No, of course it wasn't that simple- fuck! He should have known that, he was a goddamned psychologist! He didn't know how he suddenly got that simple, asinine thought in his head; since when did he think in ways that absolutely defied his education?

"Crazy? I didn't say you were crazy, Norm-"

"I didn't say, crazy, Cartuh…" The agent's voice sagged. "I'm not _ill, _it's just a result of…several fact'ahs."

There was a small silence, after all, Norman would rather not explain the situation any deeper then it needed to. Let some mystery dwell in his condition, even if it meant the lieutenant's thoughts would stew to form something most likely far more vile then the reality.

'_Like drug use? Yeah, pity if he thought that.' _His own thoughts quipped.

"Fact'ahs?" Blake repeated, mocking his ridiculously thick accent. Norman's face heated up in a quick surge of anger. "Those fuck'n glasses? Is that what this is all about?"

A slight calm slowly slowed his quickly beating heart, his face feeling visibly cooler after the anger slowly began to subside. _'Yeah, except that's not the whole story, Blake.' _He had wanted to say; he so wanted the man next to him to be someone whom he could trust, for Carter Blake to not be a masochistic, brutal cop who took advantage of him-sexually- and make his life a living hell…But for him to be a friend, maybe more- that he could lay his head on and feel those warm, masculine arms surround him, whisper in his ear and tell him it would alright, be able to tell him his whole life story without a snide remark or a hard time-

'_Fuck! Why would I want that? It's not him- not him, specifically, just…a manifestation of what you want.' _He reasoned. _'Though he did do a decent job, earlier…Remember that? Before you went to Vietnam…'_

He just wanted to tell _someone, _not be judged, ridiculed, or have the FBI lock him away. Christ, all this time, he didn't just need some goddamn drug to allow him to stay in this world…He just wanted a fucking friend. Be it a lover, or just someone to lean on.

'_What is he, then? He's not a friend, is he? Sure, he made me laugh a few times, I blew him, but…A friend? No way. I don't think that could ev'ah happen…'_

"Yes." Norman said with a swallow. "Remember your reaction, before? Back at the precinct? Or..back at'cha house, this morn'n?"

There was a pause as Blake seemed to roll his jaw back and forth- a now obvious trait that the man seemed to do when it was obvious he was holding himself back from nearly beating everything around him into a dense, pulp-like substance. Norman decided he liked his bones whole, so he tread carefully.

Norman was one big enigma, and for Carter, a detective with a curiosity of a cat, he couldn't help it. It bothered him to no end, an inccesent animal nipping at his heels. For good reason, any normal person would be just a little bewildered when it came to someone they knew returning from the dead. Though in Blake's case, his eerie calm, steadfastness outside concerning the situation betrayed his inner turmoil. No normal person could ever go about his day like he did, knowing they had a dead man inside a pair of fancy glasses. It was a testament to Blake's ability to remain stubbornly commited to his purpose that kept him sane.

"The Areee, it r'illy affected me…A hell of a lot more then I'd evah admit. It was just so compelling…I always had a hard time puttin' it down. Working without it…It's like an extension, like a part of me. I sort of…just forgot to live without it."

At least that was the entirety of the half-truth. Tripto wasn't going to be mentioned, not for a long time. Or perhaps ever, if he could manage it. It was something that extended beyond shame, but instead was something akin to complete and total denial. He had lied to himself so often, he actually began to believe it. Living his own paranoid delusion.

"So you're saying you let some fancy glasses got the upper hand on you?" Blake snorted, rolling his head around a bit as he gave Jayden a patronizing glance. "Give me a fuck'n brake…"

Shrugging, Norman decided to play down the situation at hand. He was stewing anger underneath, threatening to rise to the edge in a violent display, but instead shrugged and tried to keep a calm composure…All the evidence was already apparent in Carter himself.

"You should talk…" Normaan put, loud and clear, not concerned with the potiential nasty reaction whatsoever.

"Weren't you shaking and sick the oth'ah day? Weren't we _both_ consumed with unusual thirst, hung'ah, and fatigue these past few days?"

His education shone through in his words- his typical, analytical way of speaking apparent as he put Blake's sympoms on the cold, hard slab for him to study. He watched as Blake amost instantly seemed to become uncomfortable, looking as though he wanted to talk but not quite sure what to say. He briefly looked out the drivers side window, checking the mirror for a car that couldn't be there, regardless. Then back to the windshield- and back again.

"No answer?"

"How I'm _feelin'_ is none of your goddamn business-"

"Except it _is _my bussiness, Cartuh!"

He said it in a surprisingly urgent way, as though he had to make this point the most especially clear. His inner guilt oozing out into his day-to-day reality. It was indeed his fault Carter was like this; whether he liked the man or not- whether he could even _handle _it better then him or not- it would always be there, lurking under his skin.

"What? You my fuck'n mother?" There the cop went, again. Such upper-class speech.

"Don't patronize me- we're in this together. Last I checked…something happens to you, it happens to _me…"_

Carter nodded a bit at that, getting a grasp at what the agent was getting at.

"Self-preservation, eh?" He smirked. "I knew it came down to being about you in the end, seems to be you government assholes think."

Closing his eyes tightly, Norman breathed out slowly through his nose as he reconsidered his position. No; he was going to end it right now. Change the subject, maybe? His first option would have been to clam up completely, but he knew that would just make things more awkward in the end.

"Did it seem…Like I hurt anybody? Back there, I mean?" Norman's eyebrows raised a little when he looked towards the cop, looking adorably stricken with grief over the concept.

A small hesitancy gripped Blake as he waited to respond- he didn't exactly stop to check, for obvious reasons. He felt himself no better then a fleeing criminal, running from the scene of a crime without councern for the victims involved. Carter may had been a callous son-of-a-bitch, he had been for longer then he'd ever admit- but his intensly protective nature also ensured an almost fierce desire to right the fucked-up wrongs he saw in front of him. It was in his nature, his escalating psychotic spasms of so-called "justice" aimed at those he found guilty, like a heavily religious lunatic, or even the father of a missing child put under his eye of scrutiny. To him, there was little room for pure innocence. Far and away, not even for the man in the mirror.

So it would have been normal for Blake to accuse Jayden of the accident, to put the eye of judgement onto him and beat him nearly senseles for perhaps either maiming or killing some innocent woman or child, hell even a father on his way home to his family. He didn't see any massive fireballs or intense, steaming piles of twisted metal, but it was always in the cop's nature to assume the worst.

What was the right thing to do, he wondered? For the first time in a long, long time, Blake had to think about how he was going to handle a situation involving someone he was actually trying to be sensitive _with_, not so much _to_. Why did he care so much about devastating this Frankenstein's monster of a human being he had came to be in possession of? It wasn't entirely normal for him, his callous exterior sort of crackling like thin ice under the federal agent's weakened and submissive state. Helpess, like a newborn kitten in a pit bull's grasp. He knew he wasn't the kitten.

"No…they seemed alright."

He spoke, hurrdily. As though he didn't want Norman to analyze his words, grasp that his tone was indecisive. It certaintly wasn't Blake's first rodeo.

Norman could sense the stand-offedness of Carter's voice, and immediately dropped the subject. He swallowed audibly and sat back, mind racing with thoughts and questions pertaining to everything he'd experiencd in the past few days. From coming to Philidelphia to work on a series of child murders, to dying, coming back, giving that neanderthal of a cop a blowjob, transported back into the past into a Vietnamese jungle, to nearly getting killed again on a busy freeway. He wondered what could possibly come next. How could this get any worse? Was it even possible?

"You'd tell me if they weren't…Right?"

Jayden could tell that his traveling companion wasn't being entirely honest with him. Part of him didn't want to know the whole truth…The other, wanted every single fact. Wanted to go back there and make sure every human being was alive, at least, as wishing for not a single injury was far too lofty a request.

It took him a moment to answer, and Jayden watched his face a tad too close for his liking. The lip's corners dipping, his eyes shifting, and a general unease- he knew Blake had to to be good liar to survive as long as he had. Though this time in particular, he seemed to be a bit more nervous then he would have expected.

"Yeah…Yeah I would. Go back to sleep or something…"

The agent practically scoffed- that was the last thing he could do at a time like this-

"Take another one of those pills…" Blake suggested under his breath, his tone aggravated.

"Knock yah out…I'll wake you when you get there."

He sounded so oddly comforting, and Jayden went to speak, to protest…Then found himself analyzing that particular suggestion more then he thought he should. The drug, indeed, would put him into a nearly comatose sleep state, helping to soothe the pain in his head from both last night and today, to the stress causing headache that rumbled around his skull. Not to mention put a temporary end to all the stress that was plaguing him at the current time. His shakes were lessening, but the drug would put them to rest completely.

Funny, already his Triptocaine was being replaced by another, arguably less lethal drug. Though he still craved the blue powder- this was a sutible substiute for the time being. It wasn't so much the feeling of a lifted mood that he desired, but the simple lifting of all the pain and worries that currently made his existence a living hell. Was this really the afterlife, he wondered? It wasn't the first time he had that thought, considering the ironic fact that he was stuck with the supposed antichrist and all. Was Blake really Satan, poking him with a metaphorical trident as he killed him slowly with varying moods of compassion and loathing?

However, he also used common sense to steer him towards the decision. The drug was just another tool in his arsenal, as it always was. Just as important as a car, a cell phone, or his ARI glasses. Another tool for the job, just as necessary. It would help him relax, give his body and mind suitable rest, and allow him to be so out of it, he wouldn't have to worry about complacing Blake, or pissing him off.

"Yeah…Okay." He agreed, reaching into his pocket as he found the orange bottle, the rattling loud enough to make quite enough noise in the quiet cabin.

"How'd you know I brought them with me?" He questioned, smiling a little nervously as he realized this was supposed to be a secret, and had no idea Blake thought he had the bottle of his medication.

"Why wouldn't you?" Was his un-amused response. Hell, he actually sounded quite irritated.

"Well I…" Norman struggled, trying to make his words rational, though still quite surprised that Carter had known all along.

"I didn't want you to think I was a druggie…So I hid them this whole time."

'_Stupid!' _Inwardly punishing himself, he wished he had thought about his words a bit better before saying them outright. _'Now he's REALLY gonna think you're on something…'_

"Yeah, well…It's not a habit if 'yah need them, is it?" Came his bored, non-conversational tone. He seemed to be looking into his side mirrors to check for any pursuits coming his way. It contributed towards his edgy mood.

"…And if you're sick, you need it, right?"

Blake's words were a combination of truth and deception. Part of him meant the words with the most absolute of sincerity. He'd seen criminals locked up on every sort of chemical, legal or not. Sometimes out of a perscription bottle, straight from the doctor's office, other times just from a carfully cut line on a mirror. Either way, it destroyed with an absolute vigor and an almost estatic enthusuasm. Both the user, and whatever victim was in it's way.

Yet as much as the subject enraged him, it had also dulled his senses. Of course people loved drugs, and of course nothing the law enforcement in this country could do would ever completely stop it, instead nearly stoking the fires with it's naughty reputatuion, making it even more exilerating for it's abusers.

But he wasn't a narcotics officer- and the many times he arrested drug users back when he worked patrols, he was often pushed out of the way for more experienced officers when anything bigger then a small glove-box stash was found. He'd instead found more of the evidence of drugs in the after-math. A stoned purpatrator caught glassy-eyed and unresponsive after beating a girlfriend to death, a murder over drug dealings or a theft gone wrong for the money to score a next hit. It instead had a counter-productive effect, making him feel almost as anethesthitzed as the drug's users themselves. It was just as impossible a force to stop as the forces of nature herself.

So instead of being overtly against the substances, he found himself feeling hopeless against that particular wave of impossibility. Nothing he did was going to stop drugs from being bought or sold, used or not- he was just there to clean up the stupid motherfucker in the aftermath. And that was it, he rarely felt sorry for the users or anyone so unlucky to end up in their close enough company to be killed because of it. When an innocent woman or child was murdered thanks to the substance effecting some addict's actions, he found himself so numb to the situation that he focused entirely on the person who caused it- being under any sort of influence didn't mean dick to him.

Of course, he was still a cop. Because of this, he was leary of using any such narcotic thanks for it's ability to be addictive. Yet he found himself unaffected by the drug's habitual nature, and although Jayden wasn't exactly the doctor's intended user, it would work notheless if he saw fit.

"Yeah I…I guess."

Jayden didn't particularly sound impressed; mostly because he had been convincing himself for years of the same exact thing that Blake had just tried to convince him of, right now. Except now he didn't want to hear it, coming out of someone's mouth, instead of his own head, or even the FBI's own advice to never sway from the Triptocaine usage. It sounded genuine, sure, but deep down, he always knew something about it wasn't right, whether it was the drug itself, or what he simply suspected was his own short-comings, despite Blake's earlier words.

Relief flooded him when he considered what he was doing; dulling the pain. He popped one, and worked up enough salivia to swallow the small tablet on it's own. It stuck in his throat a little on the way down, but was able to swallow a bit more and get it moving. Laying back, he tried to ignore how the sound of the car rumbling down the road sounded suspiciously close to a military helicoptor making it's way through a Vietnam jungle.

He had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy.


	17. Submission

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Oral sex**

Author's Note:** TWO CHAPTERS, wuuuut? Yeah, I told you I needed to split it up, hah.**

* * *

"Is this the real life?  
Is this just fantasy?  
Caught in a landslide,

No escape from reality.

- **Queen**, _Bohemian Rhapsody_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

He awoke far faster then he had hoped, Jayden had sworn that he was only asleep for seconds, though as he fluttered his eyelids and saw full daylight all around, he realized his folly. His dream was brief, and he had only fleeting moments of near-shellshock as he remembered flames and screams. After a small shake-off he blinked rapidly and looked about, once again recognizing the more normal Blake sitting next to him. He was surprised to feel relief nearly every second he looked in the man's direction. Knowing that the person was his only link to reality, at this point, if it wasn't for the…favors, it would almost be a charity case on his part.

Blake was sitting with a vague look of frustration on his face, and when Norman looked up and made eye contact, he gave him a long, sweeping glare. Now the young agent could see the utter frustration he was trying to demonstrate towards him.

"Fuck'n traffic…"

Norman looked back towards the windshield, glancing out as he witnessed some sort of older black Honda blocking their way, along with the line of cars in front, as well as next to them on both sides. They seemed to have stopped right near the exit towards D.C, with the green sign pointing towards the nearby road to exit the highway. The large metal sign craned but a good twenty feet ahead, almost taunting them with it's "so close but so far" nature.

"Christ…"

Jayden swore, fluttering his eyelids as he then palmed his forehead, rubbing it as he tried his best to de-stress everything that's happened in the past few hours…Not to mention days.

"Been like this for about thirty minutes…" Blake put, in a terribly frustrated tone, then let out a deep sigh.

"We're gonna be late if it doesn't pick up, here…"

Jayden got the distinct feeling that Blake was done being mad about it. No doubt, while he was out, he had raged and vented all through the car, maybe even yelling out the window at the impassible obstruction. There was that point where no matter how angry a person could get, they would always cool down and mope into a sort of complacent, tired mood, where they ceased to care and were filled with depression and disgust. It seemed to Norman that he had waken up at just the right time. How he could sleep through all of that, though, he wasn't entirely sure. Being drugged half to death couldn't have hurt.

"Is it usually like this on a weekday around this time?" Carter asked the tired, damaged man next to him.

Watching with only slight interest, Jayden shook his head, then gave his own sigh. Then he yawned almost right afterwards, and Blake fought the urge to do so himself.

"Naw…No…Somethin' must be up…"

Either there was a wreck, or maybe some sort of construction? Back home, Blake knew the running joke was that the state animal was never the whitetail deer, but instead the construction horse. Not that it was a particularly funny running joke, but it made it's point. The state was notorious for it's large amount of road construction, the reasons running from the sheer amount of roads, to the ever-increasing desire for the government to spend money on transportation to drive the economy…Or some shit, Blake heard the reasons, didn't fully doubt their logic, but knew that in the end…It still was an incredible pain in the ass.

Still, he knew that most road construction really should have been wrapped up by this time of year. Besides…They were in Maryland, now. Approaching D.C., and were going at a fairly good pace before this whole shit came to fruition. Now he sat in traffic as the only entertainment and way to pass the time was watching FBI here twitch in his sleep- so much that he looked to be genuinely going mad in his own dreams.

Carter sat there for a good twenty minutes, a strange, almost constant feeling of near animosity, near awkwardness brewing between one another. They were sitting in a car in the middle of the highway, not moving, the occasional honking car blaring about them as the sun beat down all around and made it plenty obvious to both of them that morning had ceased, and soon the funeral would be well on it's way. Both blamed one another internally for the situation, but never said it out loud. Now was not a good time for either member of the party to get pissed off.

'_I'm so fucked if this doesn't open up here in the next thirty…' _

Norman rolled himself to sit more upright, looking around as he took the full scene as a man so obsessed with details would do. Cars stretched for miles up ahead and back, yet a particular dark SUV up ahead, right in front of the car on their right side, it was exactly what made him more then glad to leave many of the cities he'd been assigned to. Several conservative-minded bumper stickers lined it's tail gate, but the main one that inflamed him was one in particular. **'ADAM and ****EVE not Adam and STEVE**.'

Scrunching up his nose, he pursed his lips and scoffed louder then he wanted. He looked further forward, finding the front inhabited by quite the gross-appearing redneck in the front seat. Shockingly enough, there was nobody, male or female, in the passenger's seat to keep his bigoted self company. He wanted nothing more then to pull up alongside the trash and give him an "Up Yours!" gesture to end them all. Though he knew from experiences he'd investigated that such road-rage often didn't end well.

"…Basst'ed…"

It was just under his breath, but part of him wanted to share this irritation with Blake. Wanted to secretly see the rough cop explode on the redneck and beat him to a pulp- yet he really and truly knew better. For one, as satisfying it was to his ego- this wouldn't be the first time he'd wanted to express his anger on someone who's ideals varied greatly from his. After a time, he'd been able to shrug it off, let it roll right from his shoulders. This time…Well, this time he felt somehow compelled to do or say something, now that he had someone with him who would stand behind nearly any violent altercation he'd dish out. It wasn't so much a decision as much as it was an unconscious reaction- all from acquiring what he supposed now qualified as a 'partner' in some sense- even if his definition had become more like a caretaker.

'_Caretaker…Huh, gotta say I nevah saw that com'n…'_

Already, Carter was changing him. He realized that in one nausea-inducing moment, as normally such things wouldn't do much then bat his eye. Had it been just about any other time, he'd have far more to be concerned about, his career and college education enough to make him feel more then confident. Now? Now Norman wanted to take out all his problems on the nearest degenerate. He wasn't sure if he felt better now that he got some of his inner rage out into the open, or disgusted with how low he'd sunk.

"What?"

Carter had been bored out of his mind by the presence of this stilled, frustrating moment in time. Just about anything would have been interesting at this point. For a second, he assumed he was the one being called an illegitimate child to an unwed mother- but seeing as they haven't talked for a good ten minutes, he wasn't sure why he'd be even insulted, lest it be for a previous offence.

"Nah, it's…it's nothing."

Blake looked up and over at Jayden with some suspicion. He knew, of course, that it wasn't 'nothing', and couldn't help but draw conclusions that his former coworker was just like a woman in that regard. It was always _something, _and they wanted you to pry, to work harder to uncover their secrets. If Blake pressed, he'd wonder if he would actually get it; or get an irritated expression from the young man. Why bother, though? It wasn't like it actually meant anything to him. Jayden was a grown man; there was no reason why he couldn't fight his own battles, solve his own problems…

"It's just…That asshole ov'ah there…In the veh'hicle."

'_Goddamn it…Just as bad as a girl-'_

"What? What'd he do?"

Carter surprised himself with his sudden, almost violent protective behavior. Though in the moment, he was less concerned about it as much as he was curious to know if anyone decided to ruffle the feathers of his resident dead pack-mate. Had a wolf or other vicious predatory mammal witnessed such behavior, they would have seen the two as traveling partners in both the hunt and breeding rights. What disturbed the one, set off the other. Neither could help it- the instinct far older then them both, rooted in simpler times.

Watching the younger man shake his head, he simply wet his lips with that little pink tongue of his.

"Uh…Nothing, just his bump'ah stickers…He's a homah'phobe…"

A small smirk graced his face of the cop just caught himself from scoffing- aw, poor little Norman just got his feelings hurt by some white trash red-neck with an affinity for bashing the gay culture. He honestly thought the FBI agent- former agent, he supposed…Had a bit thicker skin then that.

"So? Get out of the car, walk over…and call him a fuck'n faggot. I bet that would just piss him right off."

His own voice sounded rather gruff towards the end, nearly the frequency of gravel being ground down into dirt. It seemed to display it's own inner aggravation, souped up and driven to a senseless anger fueled by vengeance, finding himself slightly ruffled by Norman's suddenly upset attitude. It bothered him, and without any conscious effort, his protective inner self began to boil and seethe beneath the surface. It longed, nearly craved to go on a rampage.

The younger man gave his curt little half-smile, and just shook his head. The bags below his eyes seemed to have increased even since they left the house. He had looked thin ever since he died, and tired since the minute he woke up, so he knew it wasn't that. Something seemed to almost make him look more sickly, destitute and stressed to the bone. Even since the coffee shop, his face turned an even more ghostly, sheet-paper pale, his eyes sleepy and ready to close. Damn kid looked to have gone through a war.

"Nah…I'm be'tah then that…" Came out with a small smile, perhaps indicating to Blake that the older man himself was more on that level.

"Shit, I forgot…" Carter returned, the corner of his right lip turning up against his will.

"…I'm sitting next to mister fuck'n FBI- bet y'ah think your shit smells like roses…"

Surprisingly irritated, Jayden was temped to fire back with "No, more like tulips," but just barely stopped himself. He wasn't sure if that would either make the lieutenant laugh, or send him into a rage. They were on decent terms right now, and despite all the drama of the past few hours, he'd just began to calm down. It was at that point where too much unexplainable, perplexing shit had happened, that anything else sort of felt comfortably numb.

A few more uncomfortable moments passed, and he heard Blake shift in his seat, before doing this odd thing he seemed to do when he was bored simply out of his skull- even if his rage was increasing by the moment by the traffic jam from Hell.

"So…What's your favorite movie?"

Jayden found himself not as surprised as before- back when Blake decided to ask where he went to school. There must have been something to the detective, an innate curiosity, that made him desire to know the agent's basic habits. Perhaps, like Jayden himself, he wanted to construct a small profile? Or, just maybe…he just wanted to know what fucking movie was his favorite…Though the young agent had come to know that deep down, everything someone did was rooted in either something primordial and quite animal, or something learned and very much instilled. Everything could profile a human being, and although Carter was turning out to be quite an unusual case, he did his best no matter the pointlessness to it all.

"Uh…" Jayden lowered his head, scratching the back of it, where his hair met the neck, and thought that one over. Shit, what _was _his favorite movie? Viewing the artful pieces of entertainment were often a luxury for his busy schedule.

"I dunno…I watch whatev'ah looks interest'n when I have the time…Not much into 'em I guess."

He had partially lied. Sometimes he'd get really, really into a movie. Truth be told, he didn't care for horror flicks, hardcore action movies, or even raunchy comedies. Perhaps if the right mood struck him, he could watch all of those, but he found all the situations a bit too bland or, in the case of horror- too nauseating and even close to home considering his profession. He had enough of dead bodies in his normal life, saw enough of the pain behind each death to feel almost sick at the concept of playing with it on the big or small screen.

True to his profession, be could become entrenched in crime dramas, or perhaps the occasional light-hearted romantic comedy. That last one was something he could never admit to Blake, God only knew he hated to admit it to himself. He didn't even prescribe to the message always sent forth in such movies- sex and love were virtually dead subjects to him. Yet they displayed a certain supplement, some sort of false reality he'd wish he could obtain.

Though he'd sort of grown out of movies- it didn't help that it seemed they simply didn't make them quite as good as they used to. There was no magical spark, no captivating moments, no memorable scenarios where characters said just the right thing at the right time- all but a few ever made him sit up and take notice. Yet once they did, they almost seemed to lose that quality as his life seemed to make them nothing more but Hollywood fantasy.

"Hmmm." Blake doubted, though his face was surprisingly bland and hard to read as he hummed off Jayden's inability to be a bit more laid-back. Everybody liked a little fantasy to get away from day-to-day, shitty life, right? Even the man in blue, himself, liked to fucking laugh after a hard week busting his ass, with little recognition. The man loved to fantasize more then anything, something few people, especially Jayden, would ever recognize about his character.

"I think you're full of shit." He put, though it was more playful then anything. The words had no bite.

"Bet that doesn't include gay porn." Blake gave the man a coy look, the corner of his mouth going up as he eyed the young man beginning to blush badly in the next seat.

"Ver'ah funny...I actually don't own an'eh..."

The comment made him slightly uncomfortable; yet to his credit he quickly sat back up, regaining composure quickly. '_Change the subject…' _Became the only tool in his arsenal.

"Oh, okay…So what'ya _you_ like? Watch 'The Notebook' with ice cream and a box of Kleenex?"

His tone was meant to be more of a joke then the nigh-serious tone it came out as. Carter scowled a little before his head jerked back a touch, turning into a smirk that belayed more bonding than irritation, his eyes narrowing as he considered what to say back to the little bitch.

"Done that before, Norm? Know how it works?"

"Naw, naw…I'm a profillah, I know how you operate, is all."

"Smartass…" Blake mumbled, then decided to get out of this nowhere conversation as he stuck his neck to the left, close to his driver's side window as he attempted to look around the car in front of him to see if there were any clues to the jam.

"Bullitt- I'll never forget seeing it on cable when my parents were out…Scarred me for fuck'n life."

It was a joke, the end part, anyway, evidenced by the laugh that followed his words. Jayden grinned- he'd indeed seen the Steve Mccqueen crime movie that featured muscle cars flying about 60's era San Francisco. He also remembered the movie being a cop flick- a crime drama. Now he wondered if the movie influenced the cop's decision to go into law enforcement. Or hell, even the Firebird in his back yard.

"Good movie…"

Jayden admitted, even if he personally had only seen it once, many years ago. Though he also knew it was a classic, so he still gave it his seal of approval while he sat in the cop's car.

"Scarred ya? It wasn't a scary movie…" He quipped.

"Yeah- I just didn't know shit was that messed up when I was that old…Think I was just eight…Got me interested in being a cop." Bingo, Jayden thought.

"It was more then that, though…" He sighed, and Jayden perked up, now intrigued about his traveling partner's past, willing to listen if the cop was equally willing to speak.

Except he didn't. An odd silence filled the air, as Norman expected him to open up, but nothing came out. Carter, on the other hand, simply never meant to say anything else, but found himself almost wanting to. Instead, another pregnant silence passed, as after several seconds of considering for one party, and intent listening on the other, Carter simply reached up to briskly scratch his beard, the sound surprisingly loud as his nails brushed against his rough, prickly facial hair.

"Yeah…" He sighed, willing his desire to just not fucking talk for a while.

It worked, for the most part. Norman seemed to rest his head back into the seat, his body steadily going limp as it became apparent he was once more attempting to get some sleep. Carter felt himself nearly overcome with that same desire as well; how nice it would fucking be to just catch some shut-eye; as much as he wanted? Be back in his mundane, yet comfortably broken-in bed and just sleep all the goddamn day, it was an amazingly comforting thought.

With a yawn, he fought at this sudden onslaught of fatigue as he watched some of the cars in front of him began to move. He almost got excited, moving his car from park into drive, then inching forward as his lane moved a good twenty feet before dead-stopping again. The lanes next to him moved even less, so he supposed he _should _have felt grateful. Not so much, though.

"Fuck…"

Surprisingly low for his tone of voice, he yawned again as he said the curse and laid back against the seat. He figured at this point -he'd be fucked; not unless he sped the rest of the way after this thing opened up in about fifteen minutes. He was determined to get to the viewing out of his own curiosity, wanting to see if that was really Jayden in that casket…And how in God's name they could have possibly salvaged him into some sort of recognizable person after what he witnessed before. It would have been like taking tuna from a can and reassembling it back into a fish.

In fact, he wondered with great intrigue why the family would even attempt such a thing. Wouldn't anyone in their right mind just have a closed casket? He'd been to his many funerals- knew the etiquette well. Times where cops were nearly blown apart in the line of duty- all with the caskets firmly closed to prevent the legacy of the dead from being remembered by his destroyed shell rather then his living spirit…Or some shit like that, he figured.

With his head laying back against the seat, it didn't take him long before his eyes started to drift shut. The heat from the car had felt so relaxing considering how damn cold it was outside. It nearly felt like a nice, warm blanket enveloping him. Listening to the soft, yet rhythmic breathing of Norman unconsciously put him into a 'pack' state, two male lions out on the hunt, stopping to rest and sleep in the African sun. To emphasize that point, Blake yawned wide yet again, exposing his large canine teeth- giving him a beastly appearance quite akin to that very predatory beast on the prowl. It didn't take long for him to accidentally fall asleep, though truth be told, he didn't exactly fight it, either.

It was a sex dream- an almost inevitable event considering he was indeed, a man. A man who far and away didn't have his sexual needs met on a regular basis. At least Norman began to indulge such desires- even if it was rather unorthodox considering his gender and methods of fulfillment.

He was surprised, however, to find his dream to involve just that…Norman Jayden, dressed in his iconic grey suit and slacks, hair perfectly fixed and facial hair nicely trimmed to reveal a chiseled face that came off as both manly and boyish, his white alabaster skin and cerulean eyes seemed almost like some made-to-order gay sex slave from some catalog from ancient Rome. Though Carter couldn't help but love that thought- he was the antichrist, right? What better way was there to teach him a 'lesson?'

The dream was surprisingly vivid, and he found himself back in that room where they had their kick-off meeting on the second day of the investigation. There was Norman, just finishing telling him that he hadn't found "absou-fuck-a-loutely-nothing!" in two years time of investigating the Origami Killer- something that, when the thought came up, continued to aggravate and enrage him to this day.

"_Fuck'n asshole_!" Came his belligerent, rage-induced outburst as he kicked the chair out of utter frustration at not being able to physically harm the FBI agent.

Norman backed away in surprise-and in retrospect, delight filled Carter to the brim. That look of slight fear in his eyes replayed back, over and over again. Perry told him "Enough!"- nearly ready to ask Jayden about the rainfall when Blake went against the grain of both authority and basic decency- even reality, as he now understood the perfect way to put Jayden in his place. Something that he didn't do, didn't even _think _to do at the time, but now seemed absolutely perfect.

"Blake! Shit, Blake- _Perry! _Get him off-"

Rushing at the agent, he grabbed his wrists and pulled them behind his back. Using his body, he pressed Norman against the nearby desk and rotated his hips along the other man's ass, pressing and caressing the crevasse of his buttocks with his crotch, the young man turning rigid at the sensation. Not his cock, but simply his entire body from head to toe in a fear response. At this, he felt himself begin to swell in arousal at having sex in front of his coworkers, both Perry and Ash too shocked to do anything. It was _his _dream; it's not like he'd have them cause too much trouble.

"You wanna cock in your ass, _Jayden_?" He asked loudly, nearly yelling it.

Jayden's wide eyes and his panicked breath couldn't compete with Blake's erratic, loud huffing and puffing, his hips now thrusting forward as his swelled yet contained dick continued to be moved along the still-clothed crack of his ass.

"Stop! _Get…G'het off_!"

His words were rushed, full of fight-or-flight panic as he sounded anything but aroused, but instead terrified. That accent of his deepened, becoming nearly impossible to understand. He felt a swell of pride at being able to cause such an effect on the professional pain-in-the-ass.

"You little fuck'n _pussy_- you _faggot. _You wanna nice hard cock in your ass, don't ya? Fuck'n gonna…bend you over, fuck yah right here…Invite the _whole _precinct in…"

"No! No- please…I…Ah'm sawree…I'll just-"

He saw it all, and was surprised, if not horrified at his actions, the struggling, the frustrated sexual energy as he felt his loins pulse, tugging and fumbling at the belt as he panted and snorted- half ripping and half tearing the belt off as he then reached down and got the button, the zipper, not wasting any time as he pulled Norman's pants down with sex-crazed lunacy.

Tugging down his own zipper with just as much urgency, he pulled his dick from his pants more hastily then if it was a gun in a fight for his life. His erection was urgent, dripping pre-cum inside his pants as he yearned in alpha-male arousal to mount this insufferable, weaker, upstart young male. It was hard and ready, and with a few strokes from his hand, he spread the pre-cum all over the organ effectively. Jerking it a few more times, he turned towards that alabaster, smooth and tight ass as he used his hand to line the head up with his entrance, moving with it as he struggled, but leaned forward as he felt him jerk at the feeling of it touching the outside of it perfectly. Any more pressure whatsoever would puncture inside- His erection throbbed horribly, ready to take back control-

A horn blared horribly, awaking him with a start. He coughed hard and blinked a good twenty or so times as he regained his breathing. God, what was he dreaming about? Fleeting moments remained from the fantasy, and despite having it just milliseconds ago, they were fleeting fast. The brain does not desire us to remember our dreams, the events too traumatic and implausible to be healthy. And indeed, Carter just barely recalled having some sort of sexual encounter with a man- and instantly it became about as vivid as possible- that it was Jayden, goddamn, motherfucking, cock-sucking, _Jayden!_

A new horror dawned on him when he realized that he had been trying to rape him in front of coworkers- all other details remained stagnant and unyielding. Fuck, what did this mean? Some would have simply assumed that it meant he wanted to fuck the FBI agent, and nothing more. Others would assert the issue had more to do with dominance and control over a variety of situations.

Carter, of course, chose the former.

Christ, he'd never forced himself on anybody in his life. His career would have been down the tubes years ago had that been the case. Never mind the fact that his sister was raped before she died- that didn't even enter the part of his thought process as he saw raping a man simply…different. He'd considered taking Norman by force before, but that was back when he considered him little more then a computer program. Now? It was becoming increasingly evident this wasn't the case.

The pulsing in his crotch, however, was the biggest issue. There was no getting past that. It surged and beat with every pump of his heart, his arousal building as his cock's veins engorged with blood. Laying back, he took a deep breath as he analyzed the situation, his hard-on still his biggest concern. The car had beeped at him because there was a whole two car lengths ahead that were empty. Oh wow…If he didn't move, surely, he wouldn't be able to get there two car lengths sooner!

Frustrated, horny, but not one for slowing down, he grabbed the shifter and put it back into drive, then moved the appropriate distance before putting it back in park, and this time shutting the car off. Checking the time, he realized they would absolutely be late if things didn't pick up _now._

He took a deep breath, then pressed himself deep into the seat with a withheld groan. God, the smallest amount of clothing rubbing up against his cock was feeling _good. _He repeated the action, shifting about and pressing down, then forward _slowly. _His eyes shut as he felt a spark against his sensitive masculine flesh. He felt no qualms about doing this next to Norman, in fact the idea of doing it with company right next to him was making the situation far more arousing. He groaned wantonly, throwing his head back slowly and taking a deep breath; he'd do anything for a good fuck right now.

Why not jack off? I mean, really? Everyone's windows were closed in the car next to him, and certainly weren't looking in his direction. Jayden was fast asleep, and although the concept of having sex in public was his main fantasy, he was far too concerned about his livelihood to actually jack off in front of somebody. Just having Jayden blow him was quite the blush-inducing experience in itself- and he didn't have to worry about making him front-page news.

Still…Norman's hand was next to him, twitching in some odd dream as he glanced at it out of curiosity. He'd been twitching for a while now. Vaguely, he wondered what it would be like to have Norman rub one out for him in traffic. It would be the closest thing to his exhibitionist fantasy, just barely safe enough to register as 'public' while still remaining sheltered from the outside world.

A few seconds passed by, Blake telling himself that it was out of the question- that he'd get Norman to blow him in a more secure location to avoid any prying eyes. Then he looked around out of possible interest, and he found indeed that staring at him seemed to be the least interesting concept to anyone around him. The very thought of using Norman's hand as a device for sensual pleasure made him pulse with a heightened sense of arousal. Fuck it, the sooner he did it- the sooner he could get off.

Gingerly, he reached for the agent's hand as it twitched in his sleep-state of unknown importance. Pulling it carefully by the wrist, he put it into his lap, and he nearly gasped when he manipulated it just right- so that he ran the fingertips up and down the cock contained inside his pants. The fact that his little victim was still asleep and unsuspecting made the concept far more erotic than normal.

Putting the hand down, he almost immediately reached down and undid his belt, the pace almost ridiculous as he felt the need to take out his dick as fast as possible. He gently, carefully pulled his pants down, raising his hindquarters up and into the air as he slid them off his hips, the rustling of the belt and clothing making him wince and stop, heart racing as he watched for Norman's reaction- only to find him still in a semi-peaceful state.

His briefs soon followed suit, falling down around his knees as he set his ass down into the seat. Carter checked around once more, heart quickening in pace- the throbbing in his cock ceaseless, his rigid organ already stiffening to full rigidity when it flopped from his underwear.

Contrary to what one may assume, it wasn't against Carter's nature to be gentle. Rather, it was more a setting of the right conditions and the right person at the right moment. Right now, it was both an appreciation of the man's soft, silky and unknowing hand, and the need to keep his motions from waking the sleeping profiler. It wasn't the fear of Norman at all, but rather the fear of being discovered doing such a lascivious act. Why would he need to do this if the man could blow him whenever he wanted? Or if he could get a woman- supposedly, according to him- whenever he wanted? It wasn't so much the action, for Carter, but the thought of taboo along with it.

So, he very gently took the agent's hand again, and proceeded to move his smooth fingertips along his shaft. His neck curled back nearly instantly, opening his mouth and whispering an "Oh _fuck." _as his eyes leeringly shut half-way. He had to bite his lip, then licking it nearly as an apology to himself. He wasn't sure why, but the very touch was making him stiffen nearly rod-iron straight. Watching with a keen interest, he did it again, this time using the hands innate curl to put his dick through them, the fingers loosely holding it out of some odd instinct as he held it by the wrist. Taking a deep breath, he began to thrust into and out of the flaccid hold the young man had, albeit at a slow and cautious pace.

It was good, though not quite as good as to when the young man seated next to him performed the action himself. He figured that now, the taboo may have been over, or it was simply the looseness of the hold- so he put his large hand over his, squeezing it to form a tighter grip-

"Wha…?"

Jayden seemed almost startled awake, and Carter could have sworn he nearly jumped five feet into the air. This caused an absolute and total esculation of desire on his part, and he wasn't sure why. He was positive it would be more like a parent walking into the room, being discovered wasn't exactly a turn on for many people, even if exhibitionism was one for him- yet the fact that Jayden's hand was still touching his dick while he was moving and consious tickled him just the right way. The spike of adrenaline making his heart hammer and abdomen fire away in joy. The hand moved away, apparently unaware of its doings, but the feeling remained...with the exception of absolute sexual hunger alongside it.

Right then, he wasn't sure what it was in particular that woke the brunette up, was it his touch? The sound of him unbuckling his pants? The buckle and zipper nearly clanging against one another with no real heed or care to who heard them? For all he knew, it could have been both. Maybe he pretended to be asleep this whole time, just to fuck with him? Either way, he watched the young man jerk away, and it was unknown at the moment whether he actually noticed anything in particular.

It took but a moment for Jayden to sit up, collecting his bearings as his sleep-starved eyes blinked to take in the moment. He was still drugged more than a good race horse, and felt about as awkward as one right then and there. Though he wanted nothing more than to just go back to sleep, his dreams were full of laughing, napalm bomb drops, and a surging fire that seemed to be engulfing a home. It was chilling, sure, but when he awoke these images all but disappeared, like most dreams when taken out of far too soon.

What Jayden did notice, was that there was still traffic blocking them in. He didn't dare think about the time, to look at the clock and find them perhaps hours late. What he did instead was hang his head, not even wanting to look at Blake for fear that he was piss angry and willing to beat anybody and anything into a fine pulp. Especially since as far as Blake was concerned, this was all _his _fault. Great, blame it on the dead guy.

Suddenly- a grip on his hair- strong, determined, yet still oddly gentle- realized a second after he remembered who it was. Blake- Carter Blake. He normally didn't… do _anything _that softly, he knew that already about the man. He was too drowsy to fight back at full strength, but felt his body being pulled slightly down. This time he took recourse- pulling back up and looking drearily towards the lieutenant.

"Cartah? What are you doo'in?"

The sound of clothing being ruffled, and a hand surfed down to his back, riding the line between his backside and the fabric of the seat. It was odd, because he was getting the chills now from that epically _warm _hand on his lat muscles. He took a deep breath and his body stiffened- almost by instinct, he felt both the desire to flee yet still a warmth in his loins and abdomen, the very beginnings of sexual arousal.

"Norman, ever hear of a…highway delight?"

The way he said that- Norman could hear the same fucking tone of his voice he used when he was told "we're on the same team now!" many days ago. It dug right under his skin, made him hate Carter Blake all over again. In the same breath, however, it reminded him of exactly where he was. He had performed sex acts to the man, in a voluntary state, he faced it. Why, he wondered, did this continue to surprise him?

Christ- he really _should _know what a "highway delight" was. It sounded dirty, and it was obvious enough the man was ready for sex. Blake didn't seem to care or await for an answer, just once more tried to guide the young man down to his crotch by pushing his downwards. Jayden jerked from this intrusion over his own free will, and gave his traveling companion a hateful glare.

"Blake! Get'cha hands off ah me!"

Yet the older man's glare was matching in terms of hateful energy. Sneering, he displaying some of those pearly white teeth along with narrowing his eyes horribly. It wasn't the most offended Carter Blake he'd ever seen, but it was still pretty bad.

"What's the matter, _Norman? _Getting cold feet again? You were jerk'n me off in your sleep, _pervert_."

Norman's eyebrows tweaked as he jerked his face in his direction- no he wasn't. He knew that shit right away…Except he _had _been known to occasionally sleep walk. For a second he considered the possibility, then shook his head with a sneer on his lips as he looked towards the man beside him.

"Bullshit, Cartah! I don't believe f'ah a second-"

"Yeah, you're right- _I _did it. Now I just want the real deal, is that so much to ask?"

His tone was surprisingly…Pleading? His eyes were hungry, chest moving as his breathing was obviously increased. Even the whole car seemed warmer, the feel of the man's heat literally radiating off of him. The hand still remained on his back, and the mere closeness of being in the same vicinity of the older man began to intoxicate him. The smell, the heat, the sound of his hurried breath as the warm air from his large, rough lips sailed outward...Taking a deep breath, he looked down, the sexual tension in the air primed by the quest for dominance and the same desire to give up- to submit, and simply enjoy the ride without concern or worry.

"You're _not_ ask'in…" Norman said under his breath, his heart hammering as he knew this was going to be nearly impossible to get out of. "Yah tell'n."

Tilting his head slightly, Carter's small eyes remained half closed as that left hand from the top of his head- began to curl around to his ear. Norman couldn't help it, and leaned into the grip, eyes closing lustfully as he breathed in, sighing deeply. He let himself give in, allowing his body to accept the heat that now pulsed in his groin the minute those fingers touched his ear. Why should he worry? Why did he need to feel out of place? Why was he so concerned about…appearances? When somebody right here wanted him? Even if was just for his body-

This time, instead of pulling his head down, the horny cop reached across and took his hand in his. He wasn't surprised that he pulled it over so roughly, but was grateful and a little bewildered that at least his grip was loosely clasping it. He pulled it over and put it into his lap, and moved it…slowly, until it reached his bulging cock once more.

He felt the man breathe, his massive body moving slowly despite his arousal. It seemed as though he sighed in relief the minute that hand touched his body, and Norman bit at his lip as he attempted to calm himself down, heart hammering and vision still at odds with itself.

Though the young agent couldn't quite help but feel a spark of sexual fury begin in his own crotch. That burning, pulsing sensation spiking in his briefs at once again performing this act. It was still sick to him; but it had appeared his body had gotten used to these events already. By all means, his sexual organs assumed he was going to either jack off or have sex- so why not be prepared?

"That's it…"

Norman began to move his own hand now. He took a deep, shuddering breath as the moment began to take him, his whole young, smooth body jumping at the opportunity for intercourse, even if it was rather one-sided. This horrified him, the concept of his body reacting so instinctively to Blake of all people- though he also couldn't argue with it, couldn't tell it that it should know better…Couldn't argue with the throbbing erection he was now sporting inside his pants as he stroked the other man's cock, feeling it pulse with desired stimulation that he, himself, had caused.

The agent took a moment to take in the power that laid in said hand- the sheer and utter heat that irradiated from between Blake's legs, body priming for the activity that ensured their species' survival. His imagination filled in the blanks of that fat, nicely-sized cock doing more than being stroked or sucked, wondering what it would feel like inside him. The moment took him, and he no longer felt completely at odds with himself as his back curled into an arch, a tingle surging downward as that dramatic pulsing intensified. Christ- was he drooling? He could have sworn he got that watery-feeling inside his mouth, and not the kind that usually signaled an incoming regurgitation. The kind he swore he felt the first time he tried this, but now recognized it as something that was, perhaps, something altogether different.

Feeling the arousal began to envelop him, he gladly began to fondle the organ with more enthusiasm than before. He heard Carter began to grow anxious, his breaths coming out in long sighs as his chest heaved. Spurred on, he felt his own loins cry out for hunger as he shifted in his seat, moving closer and sitting on his knees as he caty-cornered face the lieutenant. Even if he was taller at this moment, at all moments, somehow he seemed like a daunting task, a nearly impossible mission in all possible applications.

Carter's hand shifted to the shoulder facing him, his grip not as strong as he'd felt before. It was more of an urging action, trying to get the younger man to take him in more of a willing action then to force it, quite unlike in his dream. It subconsciously made him want to be gentler with who he'd thought of his 'go-to bitch' in terms of his cock.

Though Norman knew nothing about said dream, and so found an odd flip settling in his stomach at this action. Their eyes locked as Norman made a small coo in his throat- timed perfectly as the other hand reached forward and stroked his jaw line- shocking himself as a his cock twitched in arousal, leaning over and placing more of his face in that outstretched hand.

He heard Carter return his own coo, though far rougher and throat-based, and it drove him wild. Crotch surging, body priming as he thrust into the seat below him in a slow, unable to control rocking motion. It must have driven Carter nuts, too, as he felt that thumb crest his plump lips and disappear inside.

"Lick it…Ah, _fuck, _Norman…Ah, yeah…"

It was happening before he could even give the command. Norman took that thumb into his mouth, sucking it as he pulled it inward, his body shaking in a combination of excitement and arousal as he tasted the salty, rough flavor and texture. He took notice of how smooth his nail and cuticle were- a lovely contrast to his hard skin. He gave it a few more sucks, his eyes closing in order to prevent locking eyes with the detective, the nature of the events catching up to him. _'Jesus! What am I do'in?'_

That was, until a hand reached under the back of his suit. It moved with surprising fluidity, and he froze, his whole body going rigid as he realized that the man was continuing some sort of actual affectionate contact between them. He almost didn't want it, accepting it thereby allowing sexual advances from someone who completely disrespected himself. But when that hand moved up and down, stroking his lower back and making him quiver- he moaned over the thumb in his mouth, and knew right then he could very well go all the way if asked, and damn near _wanted_ to. An image flashed into his head at being on his back, with Carter holding his sides as he sunk in and out of him repeatively, The sound of their skin slapping together and manly grunts as he was pummeled into a filthy, degrading nirvana. Being put into a compromising position by a man he hated, practically forced as he had no choice to pleasure the man who wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

The hand stopped stroking as he was pushed gently down by the back of his head, implying his next action. He complied without thought, opening his eyes, but keeping them drearily half-open as the blush consumed his face with an all-devouring radiance. Now the hand left completely, and he felt a pang of sorrow for it being gone, wishing it could have stayed there throughout the next course. And it was a course- because Carter had now become a delicacy in a time of famine.

Leaving his mouth, that thumb and the hand that was connected to it moved back and away. Norman wasted little time in pulling the hard and barely movable dick towards him. It was glistening with pre-cum already, stopping to admire the lovely way the cock head pulled away from the shaft, a slight gap making the head appear enormous in comparison, the shaft bulging with thick and powerful veins. The watery feeling in his mouth grew, and surprised himself when his lips moved straight to it, consuming nearly half of it in one motion.

"Craving that cock, eh?"

A furious blush overtook Norman's face, and Carter laid back with a look of absolute satisfaction on his face. All the comments of the day, all the sexual tension resolved by one action. His lips parted and hands moved as if by instinct, one curling into the younger man's hair, the other once again going to his lower back- he seemed to like that last time. Indeed, the minute the fingers began to sweep back under his suit. His form reacted instantly, a shake rattling his body and hips bucking into the seat.

Now the sucking changed up, and it appeared as though Norman was taking his new 'job' seriously. His mouth came off the cock momentarily, but the look of lust in the man's face below him meant he was going to do something worthwhile. He licked his cock in one large, sweeping motion from the base of his shaft upwards, dipping into the slit at the end. A full-body shudder riveted Carter as he fought a back a whorish moan. Instead sighing as he let his body shudder, pouring all the sensuality into that movement alone.

Instead he continued to huff and puff with each breath, the scene of the upstart agent licking him like a hungry cat with cream- was quite enough to make him cum on it's own. That would have been less satisfying, however. Norman's hands positioned themselves, one at his hip and the other around the bottom of the cock he was currently teasing, and Carter couldn't help but switch his own hand from the agent's hair, to cover the hand on his dick. Not quite taking the hand into his, instead loosely holding it with a degree of obvious approval.

Another lick, faster as it teased the glans nearly exclusively this time, then covered his cock with his mouth again. Sucking slow, massaging the organ with his mouth more then using it as a orifice to simply fuck. Carter looked down, hoping for those eyes to shoot up and lock with his again, and when they did, they instantly glanced away out of shame- so fleeting and shy, but Christ- it turned him on.

Looking back up, he noticed just then that the car in front of him had scooted forward, and that traffic was just then started to open up. Instead of being disappointed, he found himself delighted. Why, it wouldn't be a _real '_highway delight' if they weren't moving, now would it? Anyone could get head in a car, but driving? That was the whole point! The very danger was part of the thrill, the adrenaline rush of keeping a hand on the wheel and keeping focus despite getting one's dick thoroughly wet. It was distracted driving at its best.

Norman released his sucking and began to lap at the head, flicking his tongue against the duel-purpose end. Carter's own hips twitched up and down from the intensely sensitive part of his organ being so strongly stimulated- luckily he backed off for a second after that, otherwise he may have came right then and there. An audible gasp passed his lips- pushing his chest forward as he did this, accelerating a little too quickly as the car lurched forward. Still, he was able to keep a foot on the accelerator as the speed on the highway picked up, now cruising with traffic, going around thirty. Not that he would have checked his speed even if he tried.

Using his hand now, Norman began to simultaneously jerk and blow the man as his head bobbed. Now that his attention was slightly divided, he knew he could go a bit longer. Except it seemed the FBI agent had another method in store, and he felt his tongue reaching new places as he felt wetness trickle down his testes, and simply assumed it was the accumulated saliva dribbling down. Except it was warm…

"Holy…Holy fuck, Nooorrmmm…"

His tone was sputtering, shaking as the hand went from stroking Norman's hair- to gripping it, using it as his own patented stress-reduction ball in order to have _something _else to focus on. He was licking at his balls, in particular the membrane that stretched between them and appeared as more of a suture to the untrained eye. Throwing his head back against the seat, he let loose cries of passion, eyes closed tightly as he pushed it into the seat behind him, panting and letting out moans that sounded nearly on the brink of pure femininity.

Carter could have sworn he heard his tormenter tell him he "tasted good"; and fought to find a way to react- until he took a left testicle into his mouth, sucking it in like one trying to make a hickey, using his teeth more as tools to texture the sensitive organ rather then bite. The tongue lapped at the skin like a sweet lollipop being hungrily devoured, the thick pubic hairs gently twirled in his mouth about along with it. It was a relief when he backed off, the saliva chilling the testicles as the cool air from outside leaked in. Back to his dick, he swallowed it as whole as possible, going with a new vigor as he appeared to make him cum at long last.

A powerful exhale, and his manly hands cupped his head on both sides- slowing him down as his hips pulled backwards to try and make himself last longer. Norman looked upwards out of instinct, and the minute they locked eyes, Carter couldn't help but be taken aback in the moment. Those lovely eyes laden with moisture from the previous breakdown- shining in their cerulean delight.

His face looked fucking beautiful with his cock in his mouth- that nearly perfect, boyish face complete with sky-blue eyes, brown, mussed and finely cut hair, plump little lips and pristine complexion- broken up elegantly and erotically by his own swarthy -hued and virile cock inserted directly into that mouth, those same lips sealed around it tightly, like a woman's own accepting and wanting pink. It was fucking magical.

Then those eyes darted down, his face reddening at being caught 'out' of his element. He felt the man sigh around his dick, the man's other hand traveling to behind his back to get a better grip. Normally this would have made him jump, but the moment had made him too complacent to another man's touch, and only exhaled sharply in response, body stiffening but not unwilling. His hand was firm but oddly chilled, something that still rung unnatural to his still-living, still natural body.

Norman's pace increased, head bobbing with more intensity and speed as the head just barely hit the back of his throat. It just went to prove the older man that he didn't have to be deep-throated to encounter the ultimate in pleasure. The swelling building in his abdomen pounded and burned, coming to a head as he knew full well was going to be it- and Blake couldn't help but feel like a massive volcano on the verge of eruption.

There was a cavalcade of short, breathy moans and near-protests mixed with what was perhaps warnings, three quickly in succession before he slammed the back of his head against the seat and felt himself release. He could feel every throb, every pulsing action as his cock practically exploded. He felt his ass clench, his entire lower half spasm as muscles contracted in orgasm, even his upper half shuddering as a chill went up his back and neck.

Norman sat up and away the second he felt Carter react- only to get it right in the face. The warm, viscous white fluid squirting the front of his face, closing his eyes and just nearly having it swimming in his eyes. He heard Carter pant with exertion, felt his legs jerk and shake from the aftershock, all the while feeling an odd sickness in his gut as the warm cum dripped off his nose and land on his lips. Somehow, it was all more revolting than if he had just swallowed it. Taking a second to inhale and catch his breath, he tried to ignore the almost- bile collecting in the back of his throat he shakily licked the semen from his lips, trying to ignore it's strong, human taste.

Carter's hand grabbed his hair, and he went with the flow as he felt that hand weigh down on his face, and practically force his head down towards his lap. His fatigue mixed with his drug cocktail forced his legs over the passenger seat; laying down with his head poised on Carter Blake's lap- that large masculine palm coupled with those thick fingers laid below his jaw line, those same digits casually stroking there as in some sort of 'thank you' gesture.

For a moment they sat there in a sort of daze, one not thinking much about anything else but one another. Carter shakily found himself looking about- not particularly taking into account much of his surroundings, they were nowhere near as interesting as the action that just occurred- then found himself locking eyes with someone who was staring right at them, presumably during a majority of the last act of their sexual activity.

It was the same motherfucker in the SUV- the one Norman had pointed out with all the anti-gay bumper stickers on the back. Indeed, he looked quite the redneck, wearing a baseball cap and long-sleeved, dirty shirt, nearly morbidly obese and whiter then snow, staring practically blankly at their action. His mouth was partially open, though Carter hypothesized it was more to do with the scene he had just taken in rather then his mouth-breathing nature.

The burly lieutenant couldn't tell if the man was gawking at them because he was shocked, or because he found it simply enthralling. After all, if he was so offended by such actions, wouldn't his mouth had been running the whole time? Though the cop was certain that even if he did, they certainly wouldn't have noticed.

"Hey asshole- you need to pay for shit this good! Cough it up!" He announded with an outstretched palm.

Blake's tone was genuine, his face serious despite his obviously amused attitude. He could feel Norman react by stiffening, though didn't quite see when his eyes grew wide at the look of the man practically drooling- at the sight of a cum-spattered Norman Jayden on another man's lap.

Instead of using some sort or anti-gay slur or even paying up- the homophobe swallowed and looked away, rolling up his window quickly and looking forward as he accelerated the small distance between cars in order to break the awkward eye contact.

Norman had no desire to sit up, his body practically melding into Carter's thigh. His thought process was all tied up, virtually relaxed and practically numbed as he lay there. The older man didn't seem to care, sitting there with his pants and underwear down, driving his car with little difficulty. Down here, he could feel the car rock with greater intensity, his eyes sleepily taking in those expensive shoes he spent so much money on.

"Thanks…"

There was a second as Blake seemed to register that, reacting as if he was punched in the face.

"What? What're you thanking _me _for?"

"That guy…" He felt the motion and winced as Blake seemed to roll over a bump or pothole. "I don't know why, but…That was really satisfy'n."

"Yeah, well…It just worked out, didn't it? That asshole slammed shut..." A small chuckle, Norman felt himself smile, and despite how uncomfortable it was to have the itchy, cool feeling of drying cum on his face- he felt too carried away by the moment to do anything.

The FBI agent licked his lips- shame starting to creep over him. It had felt _good _this time- Carter's cock, as always, tasted like sweat, like a mellow masculine flavor mixed with a pungent saltiness. Doing the deed felt more like a consensual action between two close friends, perhaps done as a favor instead of a paid prostitute outside a nightclub. The older man had been taking…decent to perhaps _good _care of him, and it was that thought that spurred on the acts of practical love-making to his dick.

In the end, the bureaucrat had to agnowledge the fact that he just plain enjoyed it. Taking another man's organ inside and pleasuring it, the experience of the taste, the smell, the reactions from the partner involved. Two human beings, divided by indifference, bonded by the sexually charged unifying social behavior that gets about as intimate as possible. He had opened his senses, took in the scent of Blake as he breathed him in, the taste, the sound of his breath…It was…Pleasant. Intoxicating.

He understood the man a bit better, right then. There was the intense ability for the man to be affectionate, loving, even passionate. It felt nearly as strong as his ability to want to maim, destroy and control. It began to make sense now, and Norman had to ask himself…Did he want to get involved? He could use his profiler's abilities to try and work him a bit better, use his good side to his advantage while skirting around his dark half just as well. If he wanted this man…and he questioned if he did- he needed to worm his way into his heart before he could ever be accepted. Win the man's respect and acceptance, submit before rising up again.

The first time he took Tripto, he remembered feeling _everything_, sensing it all with an overtly in-touch nature. He could hear the fabric rustle as he moved, feel his heavy suit spread over his frame and his heart beat quickly in his chest. Felt everything become so more meaningful, so much more satisfying then before. He would grin when he first started, grin like a mad man. He truly felt his world expand, the walls look to have literally be knocked down and boundaries become limitless. Afterwards, just like now, he would be ashamed of himself, disgusted, yet still wholly enthralled. Just like then, he would soon come crawling back, and he could barely wait to try it again. This time, however, it was real. A drug could never hold you, touch you, caress you…not really.

It didn't even feel like reality, it felt like being drugged all over again.


	18. Empty

Rating: **M**

Warnings: **Masturbation**

Author's Note: **WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. I'd have to say that was a new record. I'm not going to piss around and give out explanations or promises to 'do better next time', as I clearly can't live up to them. Let's just say this fic and my desire to write are very much alive. I'll update as soon as I can, no later. I love you guys; I wouldn't fuck you over if I could help it.**

**More 'Lovecraftiness' makes a return, yayyyy!  
**

******So yeah, here's this.**  


* * *

**"Of the pleasures and pains of opium much has been written. The ecstasies and horrors of** **De Quincy** **and the paradis artificiels of Bauelaire are preserved and interpreted with an art which makes them immortal, and the world knows well the beauty, the terror and the mystery of those obscure realms into which the inspired dreamer is transported.** **But much as has been told, no man has yet dared intimate the nature of the phantasms thus unfolded to the mind, or hint at the direction of the unheard-of roads along whose ornate and exotic course the partaker of the drug is so irresistibly borne."**

- H.P. Lovecraft, _The Crawling Chaos_

**_U _**_p_**_ l _**_o_**_ a _**_d_**_ e _**_d_

* * *

He swore he could hear the gushing, swirling noises of Blake's stomach- digesting, no doubt, that muffin and coffee from earlier. Norman wasn't sure if he liked it or not, as being so in-touch with his adversary's bodily processes was a bit too intimate for his liking. Though after being completely quiet in his breathing, and trying his best to filter out the rumbling noises of the car rolling down the road below him, he was now positive he indeed could hear the swirling echoes of the meal being broken down. He wasn't sure if that was a positive thing or not, as it sort of implied a closeness, a bonding he may have craved, but…not for Blake, in particular.

Then he recognized the sound of a loud, hungry growl, and whetted the lips with his heavily used tongue before he very gently, very awkwardly- sat up. The silence in that car right then was profusely uncomfortable… the thick, pulsing combined animosity, affection, and sexual tension combining together to form what had to be the strangest, yet nearly instantly recognizable sensation for both of them.

Simplified, it was _lust_. Blake felt his mouth pretty much watering, his lower body pulsing in rhythmic surges. No doubt, the beats he felt down below would match any thrusts he would now be dishing out had this been any other place and time. Biting the inside of his lip, he instead felt his hip moving in such ways into the seat beneath him, only hindered by the fact that Jayden was present, his arousal peaked as he watched him (out of the corner of his eye, he certainly couldn't look him in the face right now) wipe away most of his semen off his face with the back of his hand and mouth. One part of him had the urge to tell him to get a napkin out of the glove department, to keep his bodily fluid from marking the car- the other wanted him to keep it on his face for as long as possible.

What disturbed him probably the most was the pulsing in his…well, his _ass_. He wondered just why that was- it had never happened before. Thing was, it felt…good. It felt fucking wonderful. So much so, that he swallowed as a slight wave of over-powering vertigo washed over him. He tried to gather why that particular area would feel arousal, after all it usually wasn't considered a sexual organ per say; then realized that perhaps it was his prostate- in which the realization made him immediately began to milk the sensation for all it was worth. Each pulse, each tremor, going along with the delightful near-sensation of thrusting into another human being as his cock and internal organs surged with the joy of sexual release.

'_**Goddamn**__ Norman…Even when he's doing something I like, he's pissin' me off…'_

Why did this have to happen? He supposed he should have blamed himself, but his ego wouldn't allow it. Norman, being a fag, had to somehow plant the queer seed in his brain. Not literally of course- but he had to have done _something_ when he started the case to make him fantasize about fucking his mouth raw. There was simply no way... he wasn't gay. It didn't make any semblance of sense to him. All these years, he'd joked with friends and coworkers alike about the homosexual community. It always garnered a laugh, everyone in mutual agreement to his cause.

'_What if they saw me now?' _He wondered. Not that Blake usually gave two shits about what other people thought, but it was a paradoxical question, regardless.

Though now he thought back, against his will, to all the times in his youth where he was out with other male friends- sneaking a glance when they took a piss, compared dicks while they were drunk or high off their ass, or becoming mesmerized at the sight of his friends pounding into a girl when they thought they were alone, taking a peek through an open door crack. All moments, he was sure, that were completely within his limits of heterosexuality. Now he looked back and reasoned, perhaps, that they weren't so innocent. Or maybe, just maybe, he was always assuming there was a clear line between all of these, between straight and gay. Either you were, or you weren't. Now, in retrospect, he wasn't so sure.

Carter didn't realize at the time that he was, in fact, reasoning his new-found arousal towards the young man beside him. It wasn't so much excitement at the sight of his cock or ass- or even the _thought_ of those organs and using them, specifically- despite the rather male-brained orientation to do so- it was instead the concept of doing _something _to him, to which he was almost repulsed at what direction he was going.

The fantasies flowed too easily in his brain, working like warm tendrils from the base of his skull downward as it almost relied on the nervous or vascular system to transport; his abdomen tensing as the dreams worked him into a fervor. He thought of thrusting inside of Norman… feeling that smooth skin underneath his chest as his hands held back his legs. The very thought of holding him down as he pummeled into him, heedless, without worry, as Jayden's body constricted around him- the thought nearly sent him into another erection, and he had_ just_ ejaculated- he could say with dismay that was the quickest he ever recovered from a sexual experience.

Taking a shuddering breath, he put the back of his head against the seat and swallowed, raising it back up and shaking his head in a very obvious sign of distress. Norman noticed, but didn't say or look in his direction- poor thing still had cum on his face. It would hardly make sense to jest him with that particular appearance.

"Is there enethin I can use in this car tah…you know? Wipe ya'h jizz a'f my fahce?"

Blake ignored him for a second, his mind still locked back in the actual situation that just occurred. He was already analyzing it, and once the affectionate, kindred bonding feeling began to wear off, he could feel anger once again creeping in. As far as he was concerned, he was taken advantage of-

'_Now wait a minute, he sucked __**your **__dick, how's that work?'_

Goddamn it, he needed to stop this shit. What exactly he had to _stop _per say; he wasn't sure. His heart hammered in stress as his blood pressure spiked- continuing to drive towards his destination. As of right now, the car's clock said he was late. Only to the viewing however- as long as he didn't get a call from Perry, he was still in the clear. The phone had been silent throughout their whole "ordeal". That was the one thing he was able to keep a hold on. Thank fucking Christ for small victories.

"There's some napkins in the glove department…" He said as a way to get the kid off his back- thankfully, not literally.

Watching out of the corner of his eye as Norman opened said glove box and began to search; he was struck by a sudden realization. Just where the fuck was he supposed to stay as he went to the funeral? Holy shit! Why didn't he think of this before? How fucking stupid could he be?

Norman pulled one out from the large supply of packaged wet- naps inside, all decorated with the McDonalds label, pulling one open as he tried desperately to get some sort of cleanliness. It wasn't easy, and it took a couple more to do the job. He organized them into a pile on the center console and shifted in his seat as he felt a shot of pleasure- once again realizing his hardness. Biting his lower lip, he looked out with the window with an attempt to draw attention away from himself- he didn't need Blake's goading about the bulge in his lap to add to this discomfort. Fuck! He wished he could jack off-

"Fuck, Norm…What's I gonna do with you?" Blake lamented; his tone out of place as he shattered the moment.

"Saw'hry?" Norman's body jumped at the question, he wanted to kick himself as his voice came out as more of a squeak.

"Wher'm I gonna put you while I attend your goddamn funeral?"

Norman stuttered- he never really put too much thought into that. He simply assumed he would…wait in the car. Only now did he realize the fault in that plan.

"I, uh…Thought I could…stay in the ca'hr?"

Blake shook his head just as he made a wide turn, his focus nearly completely on his driving as he maneuvered through a part of town he hadn't been in years. Sure, he'd been to D.C. before- but God knows he couldn't remember when. He was already feeling the flutters of nervousness when it came to meeting Jayden's family in a few short minutes, and the urgency to do something with their dead son was mounting. Time was coming to a head, and it wasn't a comfortable position to be in, to say the least.

"No- I can't risk you being found…" He trailed off, then witnessed a privately owned, cheap motel in the distance along the busy route.

"I'm taking you to a motel." He said under his breath, putting on his turn signal and moving into the right lane.

Norman smirked a little at that, sitting up with some new energy surging through him, nearly forgetting taking it in the face but minutes before.

"Tak'n me to a motel? But Cartah, I don't do one-night stands!"

Smirking, he watched as the cop looked towards him with a gleam in his eye he could have sworn was a rapist's glare. It made him nearly regret the off-color comment, and looked away, feeling those eyes on the back of his head the whole way. Though he had to admit…He was going to like the idea of being by himself for a little while- maybe he could catch some sleep?

'_I feel like I can't get enough…Exhausted doesn't even begin t'ah describe it...'_

He knew it wasn't just the drugs, either. Something like a combination of being put through the wringer in various places and being brought back from the dead. No wonder all he wanted to do was pass out. Though, it was the dreams that he was concerned about. Before, when it was just the night terrors, he would still be able to sleep for the most part, though it was far from perfect or restful. Now there was the added danger of perhaps being able to actually die within them. That wasn't exactly a 'goodnight, sleep tight.' mentality to fall asleep to.

"Really? Never?"

Blake's words one again jolted his thoughts- He said it in a surprisingly serious tone, and for a second Norman hesitated. It was meant to be a joke, and expected Blake to fire back at him for being a smart ass. After all, after what had just happened, he honestly thought the older lieutenant was taking a liking to him.

"I uh…Well- a few times-"

He watched the older cop look over towards his window, smirking, then upwards, craning his neck to see a particular sign better.

"Vacancy, here we go…"

Norman glanced over, wrinkling his face in response. It was one of those cheap, 70's era, locally owned dives. No way.

"Naw, there's a good Radisson down the road…Just keep go'in."

Blake wanted to argue, but instead simply turned on his signal, and sailed into the parking lot of the shitty motel, regardless. He got a kick out of hearing the beginnings of Jayden bitch, only to have him fall back against the seat, exhausted from the entire day's proceedings.

"Settle down, Norm…All you need is somewhere to hide, not somewhere to fuck'n vacation."

"I'd 'of paid 'fah it…" Jayden lamented beneath his fingers as his hand rested miserably on his face.

"Not now, you wouldn't. Besides…it's good for 'yah, builds character…"

"Sleep'in in a bedbug-ridden whore mattress is your idea of 'charactah'? How'm I suppose' tah be comfortable?"

"Who the fuck said you had to sleep? You can just watch some TV!"

Norman made a face of disgust as Carter parked the car in front of the office, something that appeared about as welcoming as a dark alley.

"Those gawda'hnm pills you gave me- they make me wanna pass out."

Blake shrugged, "You'll be fine, Norm. Don't tell me you need tucked the fuck in or I'll feed you to the goddamn FBI myself. Now stay here…"

He didn't even bother looking at his personal cabana boy as he parked and stepped out of the car, closing it behind with some irritation. Not that he could blame Norman for not wanting to sleep in a bedbug-ridden mattress, but he didn't feel the need to get a fancy, high-class room for what was going to be an event that only lasted a few hours. Everything from the short, unintended nap before to his recent ejaculation had made him tired; wishing he could push Norman from the room and claim the bed for himself, responsibilities be damned.

Besides, his tone was coming off bitchy. He didn't need some damn incessant pissing and moaning, it wasn't making his day any better. Man up, and fucking shut up. He nearly said this to the dead man himself, but decided to be relatively nice to the guy that just gave him some magnificent head.

Exiting the car, Blake was sure to cast a weary glance left and right, keeping an eye on anybody who might be watching back. There was the FBI pair as well as anybody who might be after them from the crash; or hell, maybe even one of the funeral party that might witness a very much alive Norman Jayden in his passenger seat.

A surge of what felt like electricity hit him- it felt sudden, nearly making him stop in place- the realization at the amount of danger he was in hit him; he was playing with fire. It wouldn't take much for someone to pull in and get him on something. The fact that he made it this far was either some sort of luck he didn't know he had, or pure and simple good maneuvering on his part. He knew to get out of the situation back there, and it had proved to be a good decision. The cop just hoped he didn't have a search out for him.

Entering the hotel office with some renewed stress, he talked to the hard-to-comprehend Indian clerk and paid for a thirty-six dollar room. It was still operating under an old, traditional key system, taking the old bronze set- one key with a plastic tag attached- and walking with some renewed excitement back to the car. Norman sat up at his arrival, sighing to himself as he watched the man open the door and sit back inside.

"Alright…Room 9..." He released with an exerted sigh, putting the shifter back into reverse and turning around.

"…Drop you off…Stay put, I'll get you when this is over…"

Norman nodded as he sat back, nervousness flooding him from top to bottom. He watched the older man park the car quickly, then jump back out as if his hair was of fire and his ass was catching- no doubt, Blake wanted this over with. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, he couldn't blame him, but…somehow, he expected the man to be a bit more disturbed about his funeral. Call him crazy.

Getting out of the car, the walking-dead profiler made his way to his designated room, the lieutenant in tow behind him. The keys jingled as he came in behind him and unlocked the door, Jayden himself scratching the back of his neck nervously as he turned from left to right, keeping eyes open like Blake previous as he made the same frightening conclusion that they may have been watched right then and there.

The door creaked as it opened, a smell of stale air and cleaning materials filling his nose as he stepped inside, a crass look on his face. It was the typical 70's styling, lamps on the wall on either side of the queen-sized bed with a plain brown comforter on top. There was a modest TV, dresser, and small fridge below it. A closet was to the right on the wall, with what had to be a sad bathroom next to it behind the next door.

"Nice…" Norman sarcastically stated.

"Right, well- I guess I'll be going-"

Spinning around, Norman didn't hesitate to stop the man from leaving. The whole reason why they were even doing this was to have Carter attend to his after-death needs. What, did he forget already?

"Ah, no 'yah don't…"

Blake gave the young man a slight smile and turned around, one of the corners of his mouth up slightly; the one thing with Blake he hadd noticed was that he smiled more with his eyes then anything. At this point, he witnessed just one of those smiles…and at the realization that he had in fact recognized this admirable trait in this man, did he instantly feel closer and nearly had a chill of delight.

"Did 'yah forget-"

"No, I didn't forget, shithead." It was said with more of a laugh, a marked moment of joking and affection between the two.

"I know head that good don't come _cheap_."

Norman's attitude changed, head dropping and avoiding eye contact as his face heated up. He'd rather it wasn't even brought up.

"What is it you want me to do, Norm? I owe you that much." Blake admitted after a sigh.

There was a moment of absolute silence as Norman analyzed the moment, not just the words spoken…In themselves, quite the surprise- but also, the look that Carter was giving him. Not lust, not anger, not even those puppy-dog eye smiles, but instead, something of a _longing_. Was Blake actually feeling bad about something? Trying to make it up to him, so to speak?

The psychologist that was the young (former) agent could see the cop's mind evolving by the minute. Although still operating on the frame of the old, rough and dirty cop from Philly, he could see how he reacted after sexual release. Happy, reasonable, satisfied, joking, even _affectionate_. Quite similar to a mania phase that either swung in one extreme to another. It wouldn't take much to send him into a rage, he determined, so he decided to remain submissive for the time being. Pushing him too far would break a fragile operation, he needed a surgeon's scalpel, not a stick of dynamite.

"I uh…Well, Cartuh…" He looked away, coughing lightly as nervousness crept into his stomach.

'_Blew it…' _Came Norman's thoughts.

"Can we uh…Sit down? I gotta explain a lot…"

He heard a slight sigh as the raven-haired brute turned his back to sit down, feeling a bit concerned if everything he was going to put forth would be acceptable. There was a whole list of things he'd been compiling from the beginning of their 'agreement', and was wondering which ones may have been too much; or perhaps the entire list itself was too long, but he decided trying was better than nothing. There was only going to be one way to find out, he reasoned.

The bed dipped once more as the cop took a seat next to him, giving him a good few feet. It surprised him the most how he felt nearly disappointed that it wasn't closer, his outer thighs tingling already at the concept of being this close as he was. His analytical nature took in the thought of being on the same bed as Carter, just like when he gave him that back massage the other night; funny how it seemed like forever ago. Despite that, it felt wholly more intimate this time. Perhaps because it was now obvious that Carter had something more of an doting attitude towards him now, bringing feelings of similar affection out of the younger man.

Blake absolutely made his side of the bed weigh down more, and it gave him chills at the thought of being so close…on a goddamn _bed_. For the briefest of seconds, he felt a surge in his abdomen- then tried as he might, did his best to keep the sensation of arousal down as he instead focused on the job at hand. He hoped dearly that the burning in his face wasn't translating into a far-too-noticeable blush on the outside.

"Well uh, first…I want 'yah to check in on my Mom'n Dad…Make sure they're doin' okay."

He looked towards the Carter Blake perched ever so closely on the bed, the glance he _did_ catch- that look of intent, his whole demeanor reminding him of the way he sat so eloquently on the edge of the desk when he interviewed Ethan Mars, his expression bored, yet eyes alert and watching with the keenest of interest.

Out of nervousness, he turned back, only after observing Blake nod slightly in acknowledgement.

"So…You want me to report back, too? Is that it? This a spy mission?"

Smiling just a little, he took Blake's sarcastic tone to be one more on the playful side, and tilted his cheek towards the floor as he nodded.

"Yeah- sure…Take some notes, will yah?"

A small, awkward chuckle arouse, yet it didn't last long as the seriousness of the situation sunk in.

"Listen I..uh…I'm not gonna lie." Norman began, deciding that honesty was appropriate considering their situation, the feeling in the air, which was odd and awkward enough as it was.

Carter's face was one of absolute non-amusement, though he had to say, it wasn't one of anger, either. It seemed to be the man's "patient" face. It was a rare sight, that was for sure. Blake may have wanted to explode, but a recent blowjob seemed to have soothed the savage beast.

"I was mak'n a mental list…An' it grew. So I'm ask'in a lot from you..."

There was his sister who needed tending to, his Triptocaine and some other choice belongings he didn't need getting into the hands of not only the FBI, but any family members afterwards. His mother, his father, even his brothers if he was feeling generous enough- he wanted to make sure they were doing okay. They would be upset, sure…He just wanted to make sure nobody was ready to set up the noose in his name.

Blake took a deep breath, putting a hand behind his head and ran it from the base of his hairline on up. His jacket flared out as his body moved and flexed for the seemingly insignificant move was amplified by the massive shadow the man personified. The bed made very audible creaks as it struggled to contain the beast of a man.

"Okay…" He huffed, hand falling to his lap. It quite resembled the 'okay' Blake uttered before he beat Ethan Mar's face in, and for a moment considered this to be his possible fate.

Instead, the cop slouched forward as he looked upward towards the agent, a combination of brewing impatience yet ironic curiosity coming to a boil as his darker blue eyes turned up from beneath his heavy eyebrows.

"Make it quick- I'm running late as it is…"

* * *

Carter drove with his heart in his throat, and he'd nearly believe the actuality of that statement if he didn't feel it thudding away behind his sternum. He was nervous as shit. Not only was he twenty- five minutes late for the viewing, but he was about to meet up with Leighton Perry, James Ash, and all of Norman's family. It wasn't exactly something he was looking forward to, save for maybe the food.

That was it; too, he found his thoughts once more turning to _food_. Not exact hunger, really, not yet. Just an obsession with what could or even was unlikely to be there. Those little hotdogs in a blanket, crackers, cheese- or maybe even full plate of hamburgers stacked to the ceiling, a giant sub, plates of barbeque chicken…or pickles, lots and lots of pickles and an unhealthy desire to consume ice cream along with it, anchovies on pizza…

He wasn't even disgusted at such desires, either. Not revolted to the point of not even considering such foods, but in fact _spurred on_. Licking his lips subconsciously as he turned onto the street the funeral home sat on, surprised when it came up- way before he expected, putting on the brakes early and taking a deep breath as he turned into the rather large, impressive funeral home that loomed from the street side.

A chill ran up his spine at the sight of the dark structure. He was sure that many others probably saw the place as "charming" and "beautiful", perhaps even "peaceful." It could have been…years ago, or perhaps even in a different light. Maybe when the sun was shining through the clouds and providing the earth with all her sunlight, it looked like the perfect near-end stop for the dead before their final rest…

Not to the police lieutenant on this day, however, instead he found himself overwhelmed with the feeling of an impossible chill that sank deep into his bones. The unknown yet somehow familiar scent of what he assumed embalming fluid would smell like, acidic and nausea-inducing. Then the overpowering aroma of dank, moldy wood and soil inundated with what he somehow _knew _was decaying bodily fluids. It washed like a wave over the already stressed lieutenant, and he found himself nearly paralyzed with the sensation as his stomach nearly lurched, looking up in fascination as he passed closer by the building, looking up at its spiraling, dark form as it ascended horribly into the sky.

The words "Arkham Funeral Home" lined the memorial-style sign outside by the steps. Said sign appeared quite new in comparison to the rest of the building, to which he couldn't help but find odd. It was obviously a mansion at some point, something akin to what people would expect a haunted house to look like. It spread out to the left and right, the entrance and the windows looked ancient as the paint flaked off the panes, the weather vanes on top pointing into the sky like sharp, rusty swords stabbing the clouds. It all seemed so terribly fitting, almost too perfect considering the building's purpose.

Despite his feeling of dismay, he looked away, doing his best to focus on the situation at hand. The situation, ironically enough, that he had completely forgotten about despite the absolute drama that led to this point in time. Instead, he had an odd feeling that could only be described as creeping _death_- the totality of primal fear inundate him as he drove, quite akin to a ghost, through the parking lot in search of a space. He wasn't focused, wasn't actually _looking _for a parking space…but instead in a trance. His normal detective-esque attention to detail practically erased as he steered through the crowds of black-adorned pedestrians, all appearing faceless as he did his best not to look them in the eye.

A spot was apparent, and in his zombie- like state, he did his best to park. Much like the millions of times before, not exactly giving it any real thought. It didn't bother Carter in the slightest to have to stop and think, to take a deep breath, then another, as he sought to collect himself. He sat back in his seat, swallowing the lump that formed as a multitude of emotions claimed his body, nausea, then hunger- dread, and near- elation at finally getting this all over with…

Norman had done his best to tell him what he needed to do…He ended up giving him a rather long list of things he would do his best to work into a conversation with family members. Part of him told Carter that he could always _not _do it and say he did, but something told him that could very well come back to bite him in the ass, later. It wouldn't hurt to at least try, right?

He couldn't help but feel sorry for Norman; the details he'd explained about his family were confusing and depressing to say the least. His own childhood had been the near-opposite, although far from cheery, it had been at least simply miserable as opposed to complicated and forcefully sabotaged by whoever was sleeping with who on that particular day. It left him in a strange way, playing into his protective nature and working against the grain on his rough personally- he was actually feeling quite angry at Jayden's father especially. According to his son, who was the one who originally started the affair, though his mother was no saint herself.

Everyone in Norman's family, save his sister, from what he could ascertain…was a total fucking asshole. This was going to be interesting.

With a can-do attitude, Blake opened the door and took a step out. He practically hauled himself out of there, knowing that if he took his time, he very well might decide to stay behind. So much was riding on him, and quite frankly, it wasn't happy about it. The man was used to juggling a million things at once, busy from morning to night, pressure weighing down on him…and for some reason, this was worse, far worse- giving a shit about something turned out to be quite stressful.

His tired and stressed expression turned up, looking at the foreboding funeral home once more. He wondered if anybody else thought the way he did, or if it was him just being paranoid. Really, who would hire this place? There was no way he was the only one who found it unsettling, could it?

Around him, he spied the occasional couple or single individual walking towards the building. Car doors slammed, voices echoing throughout the chilly air as a lady's high-heels clapped on the asphalt past him. He felt an awkward surge as he realized he was a wolf among sheep, a sore thumb in a group of people that knew Jayden quite better than he did…Though for a second, he considered in the time they actually spent together…if he in fact had been quite more intimate then any of them had been.

'_Funny how that works…' _The cop mused.

Stuffing his hand in his pockets, Carter tried to keep his head down to a moderate level as he began the walk towards the doors of the looming, macabre funeral home. He did his best to hide his keen, experienced detective's eyes and senses- after all; he didn't particularly want to look threatening in the family's eyes. It was bad enough he didn't particularly fit in…he'd been to enough fallen cop's funerals to know the feeling of being stared down his nose at. It wasn't a comfortable sensation, sure, but mostly it would make his job of mingling with the group all the more difficult.

He passed by a couple and looked up to just notice that the male was tall with brown hair- the female in high heels and clutching his arm. Hearing him talk, he immediately heard a Bostonian slur to his muttering.

"_Yup, defiantly part of the family. Wonder if he's one of the scumbag brothers he's mentioned?"_

That was entirely possible, as he seemed to look like a near exact copy of Jayden's backside. Still, he didn't look up, and instead hurried along as he let them walk in front, opening the door as Blake himself grabbed it before it closed, entering the large, archaic looking doors of the fateful building itself.

What reached him first was the music, a piano being played in relative vicinity. It was a tune Blake sure as hell didn't realize, only that it was actually rather lovely and calmed his nerves just a little. On cue, he took a deep breath and took in the next sensation, the sight of his most esteemed colleagues talking face-to-face, Perry holding what had to be some sort of champagne in a glass as he seemed to be filling Ash in on an issue or another- hopefully, not his twenty-minute lateness.

Then they, inevitably, looked towards the people entering the building, spying the lieutenant as he made awkward eye contact and walked forward. Their expressions were hard to place, Ash looking up into his eyes, then away, and Perry glancing at him quickly before exchanging a glance with Ash before looking back at him. Were they just fucking talking about him? Usually the man didn't give two shits…but things had become worrisome. Now he had a reason to have to care- because now he had a dead man back at a hotel room in his name.

"Lieutenant! Good to see you made it-" His tone, though slightly condescending, gave the man no real hint to him being angry at his tardiness.

Not entirely surprising, as Perry wasn't a stickler for being on time, really. He was quite guilty of being tardy unless the press was involved. Though he often found a way to sarcastically state the issue later in the conversation when it came to someone else, just when you let your guard down- an asshole move, for certain.

"-Yeah, there was a pile up on the turnpike…" He plead his innocence, putting a hand behind his head to scratch the hairline, making only modest eye contact.

"So I heard!" Perry nearly laughed, and Blake couldn't help but feel a bit mystified on how the news reached the man so quickly, had it been on TV? The radio? Since when would he have caught either of those while he was busy kissing the Jaydens family's ass?

The surprise on his face must have been obvious, as Perry quickly indicated behind him, by means of shrugging and nodding towards the back of the room, to which the cop's eyes followed suite. It was then when Blake's body got a chill that rocked him to the core; the two FBI agents were walking casually in their direction, to which the older male felt himself virtually crucified before them.

'_Oh fuck.'_

"These two agents, here…They came in about…Oh, three minutes ago? Came in right before you did. Same thing happened to them."

It was a good thing Blake had been in some nasty situations before; otherwise he may have lost it right then in there. Instead it took a deep breath, and tried not to think he was completely fucked at this point.

'_They were __**there. **__They were fucking __**there!**__'_

'_Don't panic.' _Was his only logical thought. _'Don't fuck'n panic, they'll know.'_

Crawford approached, his expression at first had been neutral, but upon noticing the cop in their midst, his mouth turned into a heinous smile. Sure, the actual lifting of the corners of the lips wasn't unusual…it was the way his eyes didn't smile along with it, as though they were completely unattached by the natural muscles- Yet it still hovered between him being entirely devious, or simply a manifestation of his own paranoia.

'_Maybe they really don't suspect anything?' _Carter wondered; _'Even if they did…I have a good lawyer. Don't admit to __**shit, **__you hear me?" _

"Lieutenant Blake! So glad to see you made it…"

A hand was extended towards him as he stared down blankly, just barely registering the entirety of the action. It took him a second, but he finally got his arm to move up, without thought, to shake the hand of the man who had started to haunt him. His grip was disconcertingly strong- he wished he put the effort through to make his just as solid- but the desire simply wasn't there. So it ended up having his arm pumped up and down forcefully by the taller, leaner figure. It was emasculating to say the least. Thankfully, it didn't last long.

"Yeah, uh…had a hard time getting here-"

"Yes, the pile-up on the motorway." (Blake was rather confused what the fuck a "motorway" was supposed to be.) "We passed it on the way in…" Letting go of Blake's hand, he indicated with a wave of his hand towards the door, his eyes not even meeting Carter's in a show of what the older cop took to be disinterest- and therefore, disrespect.

The man seemed oddly disenchanted, only giving the cop a condescending glare back as he finished his sentence.

"Yeah, me too…" Blake murmured as he looked away, scratching the side of his nose and clearing his throat- fuck, why was it so hard to lie to this guy? It was usually so easy, even to people who were far above him in terms of the chain of command, like the fucking _mayor_. All those times his conduct had been questioned, and he was slipping up _now?_

"Is there a problem, lieutenant?"

Blake found himself enraged at that snide fucking _prick _tone, and nearly instantly, his pride and confidence returned. With a bit of a bite, at that.

"_Yeah,_ there's a problem..." He got closer to the nosey FBI bastard, looking up into his face as he came within inches of his face, to which the agent predictably leaned back.

"You keep pok'n your nose in my business? You keep getting on my ass? You're gonna get kicked off like the annoying little _fuck _you are. You got it, asshole?"

If Blake had eyes in the back of his head, he'd had loved Perry and Ash's reaction. Blake's act wasn't exactly kosher. Talking shit to an FBI agent was one thing, but clearly, this was one of their higher-ups. The stakes were just a touch higher.

"Is that right?" Just as he thought, the agent's tone was more amused then afraid. He didn't care.

Blake's stomach felt as though it had metamorphosis into the deepest pit- sinking down in his gut and into the earth's core. He tried not to make the feeling evident, didn't swallow or let his face go white- instead remembering the blind rage he felt but seconds earlier. He felt like a raging bull, forcing his way into a pen only to be castrated shortly thereafter.

"Yeah." He sneered, lip lifting as he looked into Crawford's dark, and disparaging eyes. The man was immovable, like some unnatural _fucking _thing. Carter knew now for a fact, this asshole was never going to let him alone.

"That's right- Now get the fuck outta my face- this is a funeral…show some goddamn respect."

Blake turned around, high on emotion, on anger; power- as he grabbed the glass of champagne from Ash's outstretched hand, and drank it as he faced the fuming agent. His face wasn't filled with quite the rage Carter may have wanted, but it was obvious Richard Crawford was not a happy camper; his statuesque exterior had been disrupted by the man's sudden attitude.

Throwing back the last bit of alcohol, Carter handed the glass back to Ash, whom took it awkwardly. Licking his lips, he gave the agent a final, dirty look as he turned around and walked away, through the crowd, stomach growling all the way

Suddenly, he found himself very hungry again.

* * *

Norman sat on the edge of the hotel bed- he'd love to say "his" bed, would love to be back at his house right then…but knew that was unrealistic. His house was downtown, and navigating the crowded streets at this time of day was going to be time-consuming as it was, nonetheless in the amount of time Carter needed to make it back to his own funeral. No, he supposed being at a hotel _was_ the right decision, he'd just rather it wasn't a coach roach-ridden shit-hole like this one.

For a moment, he was blinded by how strange this situation was. Many times had he thought he was, in fact, _dead_. Living through some twisted idea of purgatory or Hell. Not that Norman was a religious man; his family was Catholic and used to go to church, and maybe they still did. Yet the minute the young agent went to college and didn't have to go to church, he soon found himself questioning the rules put in place, rules that only made sense because of his limited view of the world. Having his first gay sexual experience in high school changed that- but it wasn't until he actually had sex with another man that he knew.

It felt right; it made him feel whole. Like a man- not like the sinful creature his parents and the world made him out to be. He never wished himself to be like others, to be 'normal', this _was_ normal to him. This was his life, his world. Norman never apologized; but he did wish things were different- the world, his upbringing, simply being raised in a more accepting atmosphere. Somehow having someone to lean on instead of trying to open up to the men he fucked, or the occasional friend. He never had friends that strong, that close…Ones he could honestly depend on.

The former agent, now deceased man, sat on the edge of the bed as he looked towards his shoes, breathing deeply. He was tired and he knew it, eyes fluttering shut. Though he was also too driven with thought to actually fall asleep, mind coursing with concern for Blake mingling with his family. If it didn't go well, he honestly didn't know what he would do. He'd rather not think about it.

'_So what am I supposed 'tah do? Watch TV…?'_

Well he could, couldn't he? Looking around, he saw the cheap remote up near the top of the almost even cheaper television. Standing up, feeling his body crack and pop from bones adjusting, he grabbed it and very expertly sat back down with an audible 'huff', squinting as he tried to make out the buttons in the dimly lit room. Managing to find and hit the power button, the old tube TV crackled to life. It had been left on cartoons, and Norman almost cringed at the thought of someone actually bringing kids to an obvious hooker-fuck-pad like this.

Flicking through the channels, he couldn't help but find himself curious as to if there were some adult content on this particular set up. He soon found out as he stumbled upon the Playboy channel, which caught his attention as a young lady with bleach-blonde hair and fake breasts was getting hammered by a rather large black gentlemen as she lay with her back on the bed. Norman's eyes grew at the sight, finding himself not helping to watch a few minutes, only to change it with a blush burning at his face.

He just so happened to land on the channel after that, however. A threesome- one woman, two men. One of the men was on bottom, and was licking the breasts of the female as he took it from the other- for some reason, Norman found himself both shamed and aroused, as if his parents would walk in on him at any minute. As if fucking _Carter Blake_ would walk in at any minute. He didn't bother to think and realize just how ridiculous these thoughts were…just that it was uncomfortable, and so he shut the TV off.

Of course, that didn't help the subtle erection he was now developing. It brewed as a hardening, growing mass between his legs, a warmth building in his core. He reached down without thinking and rubbed his crotch, squeezing it gently as he fondled it carefully, almost as though it was a casual, everyday scratch that got a bit more adventurous.

'_You COULD jack-off…'_

His first reaction was "nah", out of simply shame. Though he stopped to realize- why not? He was a full-grown man; he was alone…what was holding him back?

It could be all the years he felt ashamed for doing an act that tended to be considered only the act of loners, of those who simply 'couldn't get' someone to have sex with. He knew deep down, based on the sexual psychology he _knew_ that he was taught in class, read in research books, applied to murderers and rapists alike- that this wasn't correct. That desires for masturbation were quite healthy and even good for one's sexual and normal mental health.

Slightly comforted by these facts, Norman leaned back on his arms, bracing himself up by his long, stilt-like appendages as he took a deep breath. Part of him was very terrified at the concept of Carter bursting through that door all of a sudden, and his eyes scanned the room for something he would come back for- a wallet, whatever- and found the same empty room as before.

'_I nevah did get any release from before…'_

Giving Blake head in the car had caused him to receive a hard, insufferable erection. It wasn't something he was willing to share, and he must have hid it well- So Blake didn't even levy an attack on the young agent when he sported an, although lessening, still apparent, bulge in his pants. It had gone down since then- he was used to ignoring his needs, and it wasn't until now that he realized he by all means, should tend to his own body.

Pressing into it with some new fervor, he rubbed it thoroughly as he began to grope himself, kneading his genitalia as a whole before moving onto his actual dick through his clothing. He began to breathe deeply from excitement, lungs inside fluttering as the body moved, gyrating slowly as he undulated his body back and forth, as if fucking an invisible man above him.

He hated to stop, but he did just this as he lowered his ass to the bed. Now his hands flew to his belt, undoing it slowly, savoring the moment as he tried to envision some unknown, happily ready male doing the action for him. Now the button, and with anticipation, the zipper. He swore the sounds rung far too loud in the empty room, heart pounding with the slight fear of being discovered.

Again, his ass sailed into the air, high up as his hips crested and he moved his pants up to get them off instead of down, exposing his underwear. A new flutter of excitement wormed into him, and the fear of being discovered again resurfaced.

'_Maybe I should use the chain-lock, too?'_

'_No, leave it.'_

It was a very strange moment he just had with himself- he just came to the realization that he almost wanted Blake to walk in on him pleasuring himself. It would have been embarrassing, sure, but for the briefest of seconds, it would communicate that he had needs, too. He needed sexual fulfillment just as much as the other did, and his needs weren't being met even in the slightest.

The groping resumed as his underwear felt a good middle-ground before he went to the final application- he almost preferred it this way, it was clean, warm, hiding his masculinity to even himself, imagining someone fondling himself through the briefs. His bottom lowered to the bed, and proceeded to do this for a good ten minutes, mind wondering in and out of the current situation as his sexual thoughts waxed and waned, his body not quite complying as his thoughts drifted from scenario to scenario- to men and woman alike.

It wasn't until he thought of Blake again; did he feel his arousal peak. He had fought to keep the older man from his thoughts, but like the man himself, it proved to be too stubborn and brutally honest for its own good. The craving to be touched increased, as did the throbbing in his cock. He released a breath in surprise, and with more intent on taking advantage of the situation then why it elicited such feelings in him, he quickly lowered the briefs, even shedding them off his legs and kicking them and his pants to the floor.

'_Christ! I'm so fuhk'n hard- it almost fuck'n** hurts!**'_

He spread his legs on the comforter, toes pointing to one another in an almost-semi-circle. He stroked his cock in long, sweeping motions, cupping over the head at each one and scooping upwards, biting his lip as a shot of joy erupted in his prostate, the center of the male orgasm. It was felt in his abdomen, a wonderful warmth that radiated outward and consumed everything below his chest.

His legs bend at the knees as he lifted up his hands without shame or worry, absolutely concentrated on his arousal as it devoured all conscious thought- and spit in them, providing lubrication for the traction. Precum was just now dribbling down his member, though slowly, he was never a real big producer of the stuff. Sometimes it didn't come out at all- but when it did, he knew it was a state of full-on arousal, his body tingling at the concept of just jacking off to thoughts he voyeurism and appealing enemies.

Norman began to pump with an increasing enthusiasm, eyes closed and hips lifted slightly as he began to move his hips in time with his motion. A swirl of arousal struck him, catching him unaware as he hitched his breath and increased his fantasy; Carter jacking him off. He didn't care right now what that meant, but it was wonderful, and he let it go, let it take him into whatever realm it wanted. He could just imagine those calloused, aged hands- large, _experienced_ hands, ones that could consume his cock without effort and make him swear and groan as he laid back, the tingling and warmth increasing as it felt about ready to burst forth.

He cupped his testicles, caressing and groping them with a fervor he hadn't had in ages- fingers slipped down to his perineum, the area between his anus and testes. He'd touched this area before, let _others_ touch this area before… but now that same touch made him jump, nearly squealing at his own hand.

Those fingers were imagined to be Blake's hands on his body, touching, fondling, exploring untold realms with his own excitement. In his fantasy, however, there was no caution. The area was instead rubbed with two thick fingers, back and forth as it mimicked the stroking of his cock. This continued for a few short minutes, resulting in a shot of sudden joy that sent him whining- his head hit the mattress below him. His pace increased, smoothing up and down his perineum as he huffed in and out.

"Ah…Ah, fawk…"

Without thought, his fingertips moved further between his legs. They brushed his anus just as his fantasy progressed; the older man exploring, caressing every inch as he hungered for the destitute federal agent.

'Ah…Ah…Ah, no…Not yet-'

Indeed, the young man didn't want to orgasm quite yet, this had been the best masturbatory session he'd had in quite some time. It was usually just a task to relieve stress, not in actual desire to feel sexual gratification- except this time had obviously been different. Perhaps it was the long lull in the activity, or maybe it was the situation…Except he knew neither of those wasn't as responsible as the main reason, and that was the fantasy involved.

In his mind's eye, Carter's hand swept into the area between his legs. Those rough, calloused and large fingers searching for his opening, lubed and warm, teasing it as it swept around the ring in a circular motion. It was too much, too soon, and the tightness in his abdomen squeezed as he released the tension fully, the pressure in his testicles diminishing as he exploded, cumming as he felt his muscles squeeze and contract in the attempt to push the semen out while simultaneously rewarding him for the sexual act as a plethora of pleasure swam to his brain.

Except he didn't know if he wanted to feel 'rewarded'. With a huff of exhaustion, his body fell completely to the bed, not paying attention to where his fluids were- except that there was a noticeably wet sensation of something cooling between his legs. He'd clean that up, later…Right now, he needed to recover from what the fuck just happened.

'_I masturbated tah Cartuh __**fuck'n**__ Blake…'_

The man's face had entered his sexual fantasies- his touch, his breath on his bare skin, his erotic odor of musk and sweat; All of it, as livid as an ARI experience- maybe more. It had been the first time, in a _long _time…when he didn't need ARI to envision a world to escape into.

He stared at the ceiling for what felt like ages, at times his heart beat so high he could hear it in his ears. Swallowing, a tear slipping from his eyes at it collected in a cooling sensation in those very same ears as they fell alongside his head. He sighed, huffing out the air in frustration. The tears weren't from sadness or despair- it was from the intensity and stress of the contortions his face had caused during the act- but it might has well had been tears of_ longing_. Not for Blake specifically; but for belonging, of finally having something to long for. He wished he himself could accept what had just happened; let alone anybody else. Specifically, the masculine lieutenant.

It wasn't just that he had jacked off to Blake, it was that it was so fucking _wonderful_, the best sexual experience he'd ever had. Better than any man or woman he'd had before; and it had been to his own hand, under the guise of a fantasy involving that twisted lunatic…

'_So what? It was fun, wasn't it?'_

Norman swore he was embodying the typical angel on one shoulder, devil on the other cliché fantasy. One part of his brain told him it was wrong, the other didn't care…It didn't hurt him, or anybody else, and he got a nice orgasm out of it. So what did it matter? 'It _matters...' _The angel would cry; 'because he nearly beat Ethan Mars to death, because he embodies everything you hate, everything you stand for. He uses and abuses you. Or, how about he's almost twenty years older then you? Rough around the edges- and _inside, _too. Insane, mad with arrogance and incessant domination. He's alive...and you're _dead.'_

_'Oh, that's right... I've nearly f'ahgotten...I'm **dead**.'_

'But he's so _warm_.' His devil cooed- 'So sensuous, so passionate...So _filling.'_

_'Fill'in?"_

That last thought made him heat up at it's implication. He could feel himself, against his will, being actually _filled_ by Blake... right up to the brim. His cock pushing inside slowly with each new thrust until he could feel that thick pubic hair literally tickle his buttocks. He suddenly felt taken aback, an heat once again building inside of his neither regions against his will.

His cheeks flushed again as he finally sat up, looking to his legs and bed to see his semen gathered on the bed a few feet away and on his thighs. A rather good amount of precum slathered on his hands, all evidence of his apparent sexual lusting for the lieutenant.

'_You should shower…You'd feel bettah.'_

That was something they could both agree with- angel and devil alike.


End file.
